Black Roses
by EscapedRabbitBlueBell
Summary: Katy's mother disappeared on her 16th birthday. Then she meets Sherlock. Katy discovers bit by bit the truth about her mother and her father. OCC. A bit of humor too. A casefic from the eyes of the client. No Johnlock. Rated T for language, bit of angst and drug use.
1. Chapter 1

**Oh my god, I had so much fun writing this! It kinda flowed.. I have so much inspiration to write on with this story, I could put Katy in every place I want, muwhaha! Haha I'm sorry, I'm talking crap.**

**I'm well aware by the way that I used the present tense in the begin of the story, but I hope you guys would forgive me for that. I try to work it out the next chapters, okay?**

**I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did writing it!**

* * *

My father died when I was five years old. Mum said he was using drugs and alcohol at the same time, and that was fatal for my dad. Although I can't remember him very well, I never thought he was an alcoholic or an addict. It seemed weird, but I never doubted my mother: why would she lie? I mean, she had known him for over twenty-five years and probably knows him better than anyone else in this world. I know they were close: they went to primary school together.

I always thought that was sweet. You know one person for about your whole lifetime, and you marry him and give birth to his and your child. That's true love, isn't it? I've always looked up to my mother and father: they were and will always be my models. But something has changed, and I don't like it very much. No, I don't like it all.

I am carrying a big and obviously over-packed bag on my back, because of the Change. Yes, it deserves capitals. I'm heading for the 21:25 train from Cardiff to London. I've bought the tickets already, and yes, there is the train already. I'm taking a seat on the left side of the train and it's not that busy. I have expected the train to be packed full, since I always have bad luck. I put my bag on the seat next to me and I close my eyes.

Aunt Patty, she lives in Cardiff: I had visited her, didn't know anything about my mother. I figured as a sister of my mum, she has to know something, right? That would be logical, but unfortunately, there isn't any logic in my life since last week.

Aunt Patty is a fifty-three years old, eight years older than my mum. She is kind of tubby, but the nicest woman I ever knew. Aunty is single, but has no intention to be in a relation. She is quite happy with her flock of sheep. You could tell she was beautiful in her younger years. She still is actually, if she would lose the weight. She has blonde, wavy hair that reaches to her neck. Patty and my mother are very close, so I suspected she had to know something. But no, Patty was surprised to see me and was a little put off guard when I told her what happened. She offered me food and a place to spend the night. Naturally, I had accepted that offer.

Now, a day later, I'm on my train to London. I figured there was something to find there, because mummy was on a trip to said place, a month before she disappeared. That's right, she disappeared. Nowhere to be found on this world planet. At least, not yet. I am searching for her, all over Britain. I started in my hometown: Ledbury. All of our family friends knew nothing. They were always a bit startled if I told them, and of course, they were concerned about me. Now that my mother disappeared and my father is dead, nobody is taking care of me. Well, that's not entirely true. I take care of myself, and I am succeeding so far.

Of course, concern is absolutely logical and an entirely rational feeling towards me, but I find it unnecessary. I've had a job since I was fourteen, and I've saved since. I could always look after myself when I would buy things such as clothing. Of course, like every sixteen year-old girl, I love shopping, it's just that I could keep my under control while wandering around the shops. I've never used ridiculous things as make-up, I find them extremely annoying. Then again, I'm too lazy to put it on every single morning.

Of course, you would expect me to cry when I found out about the Change. The truth is, I haven't cried since eight years ago, when my dad died. I find that confusing, because Aunt Patty did cry, and she wasn't even there when my mom disappeared. I think it's just not sinking in, yet.

* * *

I place myself on a bench, right under a tree, after I wandered around London for a bit. After reading a sign, I know that I am in Regent's Park. It wasn't till I sat down on the bench, using my bag as a pillow, that I realized I was exhausted. I remind myself that I haven't slept very much since last week, and this was the time to do it: it had became dark already. I move around until I find myself in a comfortable position, and let myself sleep a little.

Unfortunately, I couldn't sleep for very long. At least, it didn't felt that way. I hear police sirens and see blue lights everywhere. I open my eyes and force myself to look up, and see that there are a couple of police cars almost 10 meters away from me.

I felt excited, because I've never been at or been nearby a crime scene before. Curiosity won, and I carry my bag on my back again. I walk over to the scene and I see a woman with dark curly hair standing. "I'm sorry, you can't pass through."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is it a problem for me to stand here, though? I've never been so close to a crime scene." I said, with a puppy-dog smile.

I saw a taxi stopping nearby, and I hear the dark-haired woman groan. As she did this, my curiosity begins to grow. A tall man with a long coat, dark curly hair and with beautiful cheekbones stepped out of the cab. On the other side of the car, another man did the same. Only he was a little shorter, maybe as tall as my dad - if I remembered him, with blonde hair and took steady strides. He seemed kind of… military? Could you be military? I don't know, and I couldn't think of about it for long, because the tall man was talking to me.

"You, yes, you. You are not a homeless person. Nor a runaway. You have money, a lot actually for your age, since you were on the train today. But why would you be here, if you weren't?" The man said, the question clearly to himself. He said it looking a bit confused, and observing me at the same time.

"Let her alone, freak. She clearly doesn't want to talk to you." The woman said with an annoyed tone, but the man ignored her.

"That's because I didn't run away," I said, with a smile. I found it quite amusing that the man would find me interesting, but couldn't figure me out. To be honest, I was a bit startled to hear that he knew I was on the train today, but I decided I wouldn't give any attention to that.

"Err, Sherlock. The case?" The blonde man asked who clearly was surprised that the tall man found me interesting. Sherlock. That's a weird name.

"The body will not go anywhere, John. Plus, this case is only a six."

"I am, in fact, a homeless person. But –" I was cut off by a man with grey hair.

"Sherlock! I need you inside, now, " the grey-haired man said, and almost immediately the blonde and the tall man walked over to him. The tall dark-haired man shot a short glance at me, though, before moving. I smirked and walked away, but stopped when the woman said something to me.

"Hey, girl. Do you need a place to stay, tonight?" She hesitated at first, but that melted away when she saw my appreciative – at least, I hope it looked appreciative – smile.

"Yes, please."

* * *

I took dad's hand when we walked over to our house again. We were laughing, and I hugged my mom when I smelled cookies. She let me choose a cookie and turned on the television for me, as I sat on the couch. My dad suddenly sat next to me and caressed a hand through my hair. I was laughing until I felt another hand, but that one was on my lower back. I didn't like the feeling: it wasn't a caring touch, it was a needy touch. It became worse and worse and I heard whispers in my ear.

"Why are you laying on the couch, babe? Well, I don't mind a little change."

I open my eyes and see eyes that were unfamiliar to me. I screamed as I jumped off the couch, as the other man screamed at my reaction. He had black hair and to be fair, he looked quite stupid.

"You are not Sally!"

"No, obviously. Who are you?"

"I... No, who are _you_?" He tried to say it calmly, but he clearly was trying to control himself.

"I'm Katy."

"And what are you doing in Sally's house?"

"Well, I'm homeless and Sally invited me to her house for one night." I confessed, almost whispering. "She said I could sleep on the couch, but she had to do some paperwork before she could come home."

"Right…" He said cautiously, observing me. I felt his eyes gliding over me, and coughed in reaction. I wasn't comfortable with him, at all. If he would be here at this time, he would stay all night. I decided that I didn't wanted to be comfortable, so I grabbed my stuff, put it in my bag and grabbed my coat.

"Will you thank Sally for me? She's nice, you're lucky to have her as your wife." I said, when I noticed his wedding ring. Why did he blush while I said that? Weird… Well, he was a weird man.

Then, of course: just my luck, it began to rain. I put my coat on, and went outside while the weird man was standing in the doorway. Just when I stood outside saying my goodbye, Sally stood in front of me.

"I'm sorry, I have to go." I said hastily, not sure what to say to her.

She brought her hand up to her head, to scratch it, I thought I couldn't put much thought in to it, because then I saw: she wasn't wearing any wedding ring. There was no tan line and no ring on the other hand either.

"My god! You sick, _sick _people!" I was almost screaming, but to be fair: they deserved it. It was disgusting, nobody deserves to be cheated on. I almost ran away, if I wasn't wearing that bloody heavy back.

I'm not sure it was the rain, but I think I saw a boy, yes, I definitely saw a boy. But it wasn't the boy, which was weird. It was what he did: he snapped a couple of pictures of me and Sally, well, I wasn't sure. The boy confirmed my doubt when he saw that I saw him, he immediately ran away. I knew I couldn't catch him, so I just yelled.

"Hey! Why do you run away?"

No reaction.

"Please! Stop! I don't know where I am, could you at least tell me that?"

He was at the corner, when he stopped. He hesitated at first, but then walked over to me.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Katy."

"I know."

The boy wasn't really a boy, anymore. I found him rather attractive, although he was soaked. His brown hair was the colour of chocolate, his eyes were... wait, were they green or grey? He was a bit taller than I am, his clothes were not expensive, even Katy could tell that with her bad taste for them.

"What's your name?"

There was that doubt again. He was working for someone, obviously.

"Jamie."

"Hi, Jamie. Do you know where I am, or possibly could sleep?"

Smart move, Katy. He was already hesitating if he could talk to me, and I'm pushing him. He turned away, but stopped when I put a hand on his arm.

"No, wait! I'm sorry. Is there anything you could do to help me?"

"Er, yes, actually. You need to come to 221B Baker Street tomorrow. Doesn't matter when: just come, okay?" He smiled, and then walked away while I stared at him until I couldn't see him anymore.

I walked away, trying to find a dry spot or a bench I could sleep or sit on. I decided that I would go in the morning towards this so-called '221B Baker Street'.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Thank you for reading my story! I would like to ask you to review my story - or even better: follow or favorite :) - because this story hadn't managed to get a high rate of views. I don't care about that at all: I find writing fun and would love to do it, even if a handful of people would read it, but a higher rate of views means faster updates. **

**If you want to say something about the story (doesn't matter if it's criticism/corrections/etc.), just review and I'll PM you and make use of your comment. **

**Enjoy!**

**EDIT: Grammar thanks to 'jack63kids', you guys should read her stories: she deserves it and they're really well written! :)**

* * *

My back ached. I decided that from now on, I won't sleep on park benches anymore. My back wasn't the only place that hurt. In the middle of the night there was a homeless man, trying to steal something out of my back. I kicked him in his belly – that was unfortunate, if I would've aimed lower, he'd have been immediately knocked out – and he gave me a black eye in return. Well, I thought it was might be a black eye, since it was hurting like hell.

I did get some a couple of hours – they felt like hours – of sleep, though. That was rather fortunate, I thought. I had a feeling that I'd need some rest, before going to 221B Baker Street.

Since I went to London, I had a couple of strange encounters. I have been woken up by two strange men, one with bad intentions for me and one with really bad intentions. I've seen a crime scene and there were two peculiar men. One seemed to have a warm, golden heart and the other seemed cold and distant. The latter seemed to know everything about me, in one look. How he had done that is a mystery to me. I had stayed a couple of hours at a house of a stranger. The woman invited me over for the whole night, which I was supposed to do, but I didn't want to stay in that house with that creepy man any longer. First, he almost assaulted me and secondly I'd discovered that the woman and the man were having an affair! If my boyfriend or girlfriend would ever cheat on me, I'd go crazy. And when I'd left, I got photographed by a young bloke called 'Jamie', if I could believe him. I think I can trust him, he seemed nice enough. I think I can safely go to the place he said I must go.

However, I do feel guilty about yelling at Sally. The woman seemed very nice and had offered me a place to stay for the night. A normal, plain person wouldn't do that. As much as I liked her, she deserved it. The man absolutely deserved it, no question about that. I can't imagine why such a woman as pretty as her, would be dating - well, 'dating' - a married man.

And now, I've got the feeling that this absurdity wouldn't end soon. No, quite the opposite. '221B Baker Street' had something in its name that reminded me of a movie or something like that. It was a typical 'it will roll out of your mouth'-name.

I grabbed my mobile phone out of my pocket and checked what time it was. Yes, I have a mobile phone. I may be homeless, but I'm not poor in any way. No, not at all: my Dad had a very rich family, and Mum and I inherited the money when Dad died. Even though we've had a lot of money, we lived a simple life, in a simple house, in a simple town. I've worked as well, I thought it was my responsibility to earn money for myself. If I was depending on my parents all my life, I couldn't live a nice life. And I proved I was true: if I hadn't worked for almost two years of my life, I wouldn't be here right now. I would be in my plain, old and boring home doing nothing and be depressed about my mother.

I felt as if I had a purpose now: it didn't matter to me if it was for a whole lifetime or a couple of weeks to discover the truth about my mother's disappearance. Did she go it on her own, or was she kidnapped? If she was kidnapped, I would've got a note or something like that to pay an amount of money, right? But why would she disappear on her own decision by choice, she had me right? She didn't want to actually leave me, right? God, it was so annoying and frustrating to have so much questions and no answers!

Anyway, it was 6:13 AM. God knows how I did sleep - or better: tortured myself - on that park bench for that long. My battery should have no battery charge within the next thirty minutes, though. _Great_. I hope I can get my phone to charge up in 221B Baker Street, I thought. I asked a nice woman the way to Baker Street, apparently: I was only one turn to the left away. So, I crossed the street and searched for '221B'. I found it rather easily and to my disappointment, I began to hesitate. Was it really smart to do this, Kate? Will this help to find your mother? For all I know, I could be kidnapped.  
I decided that I'd nothing to lose, since both of my parents were gone. Well, I wasn't certain about my mother: she had only disappeared. It was likely, though. Strangely enough I found that rather satisfying. God no, I don't want my mum to be gone: I only wish I knew what happened to her.

I knocked. Almost immediately, an old woman appeared on the doorstep.

"Yes, dear?" she asked, with a friendly tone.

"Er, my name is Katy. I was told to get here in the morning."

"Oh, you must've come for Sherlock. Come inside, dear. Aren't you cold? You're wearing a jacket that was meant to be worn in the summer: not now, it is autumn, silly!"

Sherlock? Well, that was predictable. He found her interesting: of course he wanted a person to follow her around London. And then I smiled: if I had a grandmother, I would want her to be my granny. I never had a grandmother or grandfather, but that's a story for later. She was so loving and caring and she had known me for... what? Thirty seconds? I thanked her and went inside.

"Upstairs, dear, I'll come right away."

I followed her instructions and opened the door. The first thing I noticed was how messy the room was. A grown man who lived here - certainly a man who was looking so neat and fashionably - could just clean up a room, right? Apparently not. The older woman was in the room too and went to the kitchen while I took my enormous bag off and placed it next to the sofa. I sat down as I studied the room. Wow, I thought, I'd really missed good comfort.

"Do you want a cuppa, Katy?"

"Yes please."

She put the kettle on and saw my bag.

"Do you travel? You look quite young to do that, you know," she said, with a slight concern in her voice.

"I guess you could say that, yeah," I said, trying to hide the sadness in my voice.

"My son traveled around the world. He's in a better place now."

"Where is he now?" I asked, not taking the hint. God, I am so stupid sometimes.

"He's dead," she said, as she gave me my cup of tea.

"Oh god. I'm so sorry! I can be very ignorant, I'm so sorry. My condolences."

"Don't worry, dear. I got my revenge." She smiled softly. She continued while I took sips of my tea. "Sherlock and John are on a case now, I think. I don't know when they are coming home again, they are so unpredictable sometimes."

My eyebrows raised. Sherlock... and John? That was the blonde man from the crime scene yesterday. Were they gay? They certainly didn't look gay. But then again, I'd absolutely no knowledge about relationships.

"Oh, you're wondering if they are a couple? I honestly don't know." I tried to suppress a yawn, while she talked. "Am I boring you, dear? I'm sorry, I'll go downstairs."

"No, not at all!" I said hastily as she stopped walking. "I just had a rough night... that's all."

"I understand, dear. Try to rest." She smiled and closed the door.

I heard footsteps going down the stairs while I leaned back. God, I didn't know I could miss comfort this much. I drank my cup of tea and lied down onto the couch. I closed my eyes and let myself sleep a little.

* * *

I was in the middle of a nice dream - about a world made of candy, indeed: it was nice - when I felt I was being poked in the chest, near the collarbone. I opened one eye slowly, only to see another man - the man called Sherlock, this time - kneeled in front of me. He had a concentrated, careful and observing look in his eyes: I felt like I was the only teenager he had seen in his life. I tried to suppress a giggle - I found it rather hilarious to be woken this way - but it failed. The man stood up, still having his gaze on me.

"I'm sorry you have been woken this way, but it was this or shaking you." The voice was not from myself, nor from Sherlock. I sat on the couch and found from who the voice was coming from: the blonde man. He came out of the kitchen with two cups of tea in his hand. "Figured you might want a cup."

I smiled, accepting the offer. These people were generous, although they were weird. The blonde gave the other cup to Sherlock, as he sat on a chair to my right. John went back to the kitchen to get his own cuppa.

I took a sip as I saw my bag unzipped. I gestured to it and said, "Do you normally go through other people's bags without asking?" figuring Sherlock had done that, since he was the weird-one.

"Do you find sleeping on a couch in a stranger's flat normal?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Touché." I laughed. I put the cup of tea on the table, and searched for my charger in my bag. I found it rather easily in one of the pockets and plugged it in. Sherlock had still raised eyebrows as he was still looking at me. Meanwhile, John was sitting on the chair across from the chair Sherlock was sitting in.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll pay you back for whatever I use," I said, figuring he meant using the electricity without asking.

Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something, but John had already stopped him. "Be nice, Sherlock," he grumbled in response. I found that quite amusing. I observed the two of them.

"It's not that it's a problem for me but, are you two... gay?" I asked hesitantly.

"What? No, god, no!" John said, almost desperately. "We're flatmates."

"I see," I whispered as I put on a smirk. I found John's reaction cute, I figured this question was asked almost every week. I took a few sips from my tea as I noticed my smart phone was on again. I checked it to see if I had missed something. There were seven missed calls and two messages, all from Aunt Patty. Oh god, I had totally forgotten about her! She probably was worried like crazy, because I hadn't said anything to her about leaving. I decided that I'd call her in a few hours. There were two unseen Facebook messages, too.

"I'm sorry about your father." Sherlock suddenly said. If I'd be honest: I was startled. How could he know this stuff? As I looked up, I saw that John gave me a sympathetic look.

"Excuse me, how do you know about my dad?" I said, demanding an explanation.

"I saw a couple of photographs of you, your mother and your father - it could be an aunt and uncle but parents are more likely. You were not so old though, as you are now. Probably six or seven years ago. There are no other pictures with you, your mother and your father when you were older, that means one or both of them died. Since I've seen another picture with you and your mother at an older age, your father disappeared. He most likely died."

I flinched at the words 'disappeared' and 'died', and as a reaction Sherlock gave me a curious look. John looked like he could punch his flatmate. Sherlock shifted in his chair so that he faced me, and leaned forwards.

I swallowed. He knew something about me, I realized that, and I didn't like the thought of it. I didn't want to tell anyone about my past: I never had to.

The people who'd known about my past were a handful. I never talked about my dad's death, or mum's disappearance. I felt like I wasn't ready to tell anyone - let alone strangers - about it.

"Now, why won't you tell me what's going on for the past two weeks, and why you left Cardiff?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Yay, chapter 3! I hope you all like it.**

**The same as the last chapter: reviews and such others are very welcome! I want to thank everyone who'd followed/favorited/reviewed my story so far.**

**Enjoy!**

**EDIT: Grammar with help from - as always - my beta 'jack63kids'.  
**

* * *

"What do you mean? You called me here," I said, trying to change the subject.

"Sherlock, what does she mean?" John said to Sherlock, who was still staring at me. I found it rather creepy. "Sherlock, answer me."

I couldn't help but smirk. John acted like a mum around Sherlock. At first I thought that they were in a relationship, but no: they're just friends. It was strange, because the dark-haired man didn't seem to have many friends. And the one who seemed like a friend, was acting like a mother towards him.

"I ordered Jamie to follow her," Sherlock absently said, like he was somewhere else in his mind. He suddenly took his gaze off me and took a sip from his tea.

"Don't waste our time: tell us what's going on." He tried again, more subtle than the last time. At least, he tried to be, but he didn't succeed.

I had two options, I thought. One, I could tell him everything or two, I could just walk away. I never told anyone about my past, not even my friends, why would I tell two strangers? What could he do about my mother? I knew he and his flat mate were in the police or something of the sort, since he was at the crime scene yesterday, but I didn't feel like going to the police. Aunt Patty informed the police about my mum's disappearance, but they didn't find anything in Ledbury, so they certainly wouldn't find anything here: in London.

"You know what? I don't have to tell you guys: why should I? Give me one, good reason." I tried to challenge them, but they seemed little impressed. Sherlock just gave me a look that looked like mockery and John gave me a sympathetic one, again. I was disappointed because I kind of expected an argument, but this gave me a reason to leave. "I thought so."

I thanked them for their hospitality. I grabbed my coat and put it on, zipped my bag and hastily took my phone out of the charger and put them both in my coat. I nodded towards the two of them, making eye contact and went down the stairs.

I realized I had overreacted before my foot hit the bottom step and I'm quite the drama queen, I know and admit that, but I really didn't want to tell a couple of strangers about my mum. Imagine: a man knows all about your day (and past, apparently) in one look, but one thing he didn't know. And that one thing was personal, so personal that I didn't even want to tell the police about that.

I had put my hand on the doorknob, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I flinched because I hadn't heard anything other than London's traffic outside. I saw that the hand belonged to John.

"Sherlock could help you: he's a consulting detective," he started slowly, and explained the term when he saw my confused look. "As you already know, he can deduce things about you in one look. He's incredibly intelligent and solved dozens of cases. If you're not ready to talk yet, then don't. We won't push you."

He paused as I took my hand off the doorknob, turned around – so far as I was possible to turn, because my gigantic bag – and kept my eyes fixed on my shoes. They were dirty, I noticed. Well, that wasn't surprising. I was still hesitating, they were still strangers, but John so far had been nice towards me.

"You're obviously traumatized and we want to help you. Don't go outside, you have no place to stay and you can sleep here on the sofa."

To be honest, I was touched. He was very nice indeed. He act like a mother to me – and as far as I'm concerned, no one could be compared to my mum – but as a father. I didn't remember my father very well, but John seemed to fill in a place where my father was supposed to be. I didn't know if I should be outraged or happy about that.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn't know what to say, so I closed it again. It seemed like forever: I stood there, thinking, with John's hand still at my shoulder.

John had been right, again, about leaving. If I had left, I probably would have felt like I couldn't go back ever, to 221B. It was wandering in around London, sleeping on park benches and fighting with homeless people, or sleeping on a sofa inside a flat. The latter one looked quite appealing.

I smiled as I made eye contact with John. He gave a warm smile back to at me as he took off my bag and carried for me. I climbed the stairs as I realized I liked the smell in this apartment. It smelt a bit of chemicals – no doubt it was from Sherlock – and warm: just like home.

I smiled as I walked through the door. Just like home. And then my smile faded, as I felt a shot of pain going through my body. I missed home. I missed my mum, and surprisingly, my dad. I missed their company, just knowing they were there. Well, Dad wasn't physically at home, but his spirit was. Mum kept things that belonged to my dad such as artwork and vases. I found Sherlock in the same place as when I left, staring at me. John took me out of my thoughts.

"You haven't told us your name yet," he said, kind of awkwardly, as he put my bag on the same spot as when I put it there an hour or two ago. "My name is John Watson and his name is Sherlock Holmes."

Just when I wanted to open my mouth to answer, Sherlock beat me to it.

"Don't be an idiot, John: she knows our names from yesterday at the crime scene. And her name is Katy Gibbs, you should know that."

"I don't know that because I'm not a genius like you and plus: you won't tell me anything." John snapped. I flinched: I had never expected to see such a kind man be so sharp.

"Kate will do." I smiled, recovering quickly.

"Do you want to shower, Kate?" John asked. I was not sure if I should be offended by that, but I nodded once I realized I longed for a hot shower.

"In the hallway, first door on your left. We have towels in there." I thanked him, taking my coat off and hanging it on the door, grabbed new clothes including underwear, and decided this was awkward.

Two grown man in the living room – what I considered now my bedroom as well – and I grabbed my clean knickers and a bra out of my bag! They were watching too: that was making it worse and worse. I felt my cheeks burning, and quickly went into the bathroom. I locked the door, considering the possibility of another embarrassing meeting with a man – only it wouldn't be that creep from Sally's this time, at least, I hoped.

Oh god, who's going to do their laundry? They would see my dirty underwear, whoever does it. Sherlock doesn't seem the type, and John looks far too busy. I have to take my chances and hope that the nice landlady from downstairs does it. I'll help her, of course.

I take my shirt off and notice my belly: it's flatter than it already was. I put my hand on said place, when my belly begins to rumble. I would eat after I showered, I thought, so I ignored it. I took off all my clothes and put them in the laundry basket, and stepped in the shower. It was a struggle to find the right temperature, but I found it satisfying after I accomplished my mission. The time passed by, at least, that's what I thought. It could be five minutes, or easily fifteen. I enjoyed every second of the nice, hot shower and rubbed away all the dirt from my skin.

After I had dried myself and had put on my clothes, I felt the nice feeling of cleanliness. For a homeless girl – well, currently I have a place to stay, but I'm officially homeless since I've abandoned my house – I think I look quite fancy.

I've put on plain blue jeans, loose green top and a black cardigan. My brown boots should be somewhere in my bag… I'd bought those with my mum: she thought they were really nice. That was the main reason I bought them, well: they were on sale, too, but let's pretend shall we?

I got out of the bathroom to find John and Sherlock sitting in their chairs, both having a laptop on their laps. John had apparently had a blog, as I saw 'the blog of Dr. John Watson' on the top of the website. Doctor? Wow.

I began searching for a hairbrush in my bag. I haven't brushed my hair in one and a half days, and god knows how I'm going to tame my long, wavy, golden-brown hair. After five minutes, I still hadn't found it. Sherlock gave me annoyed looks and John what-the-hell-are-you-doing-ones as I muttered words that would probably have made my mum embarrassed.

"What are you doing?" John finally said.

"I am searching for my hairbrush."

"Maybe Mrs. Hudson has one."

"Who's that?"

"The landlady," Sherlock muttered annoyed, as if that was a question spoke for itself.

"She lives downstairs, I assume?"

John smiled, which I took as a positive answer. I climbed down the stairs, knocking on Mrs. Hudson's door. After about two minutes, the older woman opened the door.

"Oh, hello, dear!"

"Hello," I smiled, absolutely adoring her kindness. I wish I could have that quality, "I left my hairbrush at home, I was wondering if I could borrow yours if you have one?"

"I think so, come on in while I search for it for you."

I accepted her offer and was overwhelmed by the smell of freshly baked apple-pie. My belly rumbled in response, I'd totally forgotten about being hungry. God only knows how a plain person like me could forget that.

"You want some of the apple-pie? I just sliced a piece for myself, take that one, dear. I'll be there in one minute." I heard, she was probably in her bathroom or bedroom searching for a hairbrush.

I walked over to the kitchen: with every step I took, my belly ached. I took the slice, that was already on a plate with a fork on it, and put it on the table in the kitchen. As I sat down, Mrs. Hudson entered the kitchen with a red hairbrush.

"Thank you," I said with a smile.

"It's really nothing, Kate. Did you try the pie?"

We had a little chitchat for about an hour and she confirmed that she really was a kind and loving person. After I had brushed my hair, I thanked her and said goodbye.

I walked into the living room, to find the grown men talking about some murder with a cuppa. I smiled in response to John's greeting. I found it rather annoying, yet amusing, that Sherlock wouldn't give any greeting at all except for a stare. What was it with this man that he only stared at me? He only talked to me when he demanded something.

"Oh, Kate, I almost forgot. What do you want for dinner? We're having a take-out." John asked.

"Er, everything is fine by me. Should I go with you?" I found it necessary to help John, Mrs. Hudson or even Sherlock during my stay. I hastily put my brown boots on.

"If you'd like that, yes. I'm going to the Chinese, now." John stood up from his chair and put his coat on. He gave me my black coat and I put it on as well. I grabbed my phone and put it in my pocket.

We walked down the stairs and turned a couple of times. We didn't really talk much, but it was a comfortable silence.

"So, you are a doctor?" I asked, trying to start a conversation. He gave me an impressed look. "I saw your blog title."

"Oh," he laughed, "yes, an army doctor in fact. Got shot in the shoulder, though. Then I was send home."

"Bugger," I said, not knowing what else to say, "Why are you, an ex-army doctor, keeping a blog, though?"

"My therapist recommended it. I had nothing to write about, until I met Sherlock. He solves cases all the time, and I write about it."  
"I should check it out sometime," I said, he gave me a smile in response.

I hadn't even noticed that we were there already, when John walked into a place that certainly looked Chinese. We ordered shrimps fried rice for two persons.

"Is Sherlock not going to eat anything?"

"He doesn't eat while he's on a case. It slows him down, he says. I force him, though. If-" My mobile phone cut him off. I saw that Aunt Patty was calling.

"I'm sorry, I have to get this," I apologized, he nodded in response. I walked outside while I picked up the phone.

"Katy."

"Katy! Thank goodness! Why were you ignoring my calls? Where are you now? Do you know how I concerned I was?" Patty attacked me with her questions. It took a while to respond.

"There's nothing to worry about, Auntie. My phone ran out of charge. I'm in London now, I have somewhere to stay. I'm sorry I hadn't said anything. "

"What?! Why are you in London? I want you to come back, now!" As her high-pitched voice was echoing in my ear, I could see John with a white plastic bag coming outside.

"I… No, I won't. I have shelter. Don't worry, I'm in safe hands. I'll call you another time, I have to go now."

"Katy! Don't you da-" I gave John an innocent smile.

"Ready?" he asked, steady but unsure.

"Of course."

The rest of the walk had been silent, John of course wondering who the hell I was talking to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Yay, another chapter! The next won't be as soon up as this one was, though. I feel the need to write the next chapter of my other story: 'Broken Hearted'. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

So apparently, it is possible for me to sleep longer than eight o'clock. I was always an early riser, so this was rare to me. I looked at the clock and realized I slept over eleven hours. Wow, there must be something wrong with me. I smirked, as I didn't know that. Mum always teased me how strange I was... God, I miss her.

I miss her pancakes in the early morning, her smile as she gave them to me, her smell and warmth when she hugged me... Deep down, I knew that it'd take a long time before I could hug her again. Today would be a good day to search for any clues of her stay, I decided. But how the hell would I do that? I can go to the police, but they wouldn't let me do anything and they wouldn't find anything. I could go to the library, as she always loved books, but what would I find there? It'd be pointless.

I sighed dramatically. There'd be nothing I could do! Maybe Sherlock 'the consulting detective' could do anything. I must admit, he was smart because he knew I was on the train, and he knew about my father. That was rather disturbing, I really didn't want him to know that. And if I did, I would tell him myself. I knew I should tell Sherlock and John about my mum sometime, but I didn't feel quite comfortable yet. It wasn't that they were nice, well, John was, Sherlock didn't seem to know about kindness and personal space.

Where were they, actually? I was sleeping on the couch: I would see them if they were awake. Sherlock didn't like to sit in his room all day, John said to me yesterday, so he should sit in the living room or in the kitchen. Since I hadn't heard anything, I thought they weren't here. And I guess I was right.

Sherlock wasn't really a sleeper, too. So he sat most of the night on his chair, that means I was sleeping when he was present. I didn't know if I would like that. He would do experiments when he was bored. By other words, when he didn't have a case. He'd probably do experiments at me, John said, as I was the only teenager he'd probably see most of the time for the next couple of weeks.

That scared me: what the hell would he do to me? I hope he wouldn't give me any drugs or pour chemicals on me, or something like that. Although science interested me, I wasn't really good at it.

Oh god, school. Well, since I'm sixteen I don't have to go to school, but I know it wouldn't be good for me and mum will be disappointed in me. I knew that for sure. School had already started, but since my mum disappeared I didn't feel the need - to be honest: I didn't even thought of it once - to go to school. Mum seemed more important. Education was something I needed, though, especially since I didn't know what I'd do later. I always thought I wanted to be in the police, but it could be really lame. Military was a possibility for me, too. I should ask John about that.

I wasn't really a girl who pictured her future, and if everything went wrong, that girl would panic. No, I wasn't like that at all. I was more of a spontaneous girl, I loved when something surprised me. And since I am in London, everything surprised me. That knew my mum, too, apparently. My birthday was on a Friday, my mother invited my friends to come to a local restaurant. My mum told me to come there at seven as well, as she 'had to work late'. So, long story short, my mum and friends surprised me. It was a happy day, until...

I didn't want to finish that thought. It was too hurtful to talk, even think, about. I knew I had to tell John and Sherlock about mum, but, I don't know... I trust them, I really do, I felt comfortable around here too. Around London, around 221B Baker Street.

So anyway, I checked the cabins to probably expect to find any products I can use to make pancakes. I even checked the microwave, only to find human eyes floating in some sort of fluid in a jar made of glass. I screamed, and it didn't take long for Mrs. Hudson to rush upstairs.

"What's wrong dear?" She asked, her voice full with concern, walking over to me.

"Are these _human_ eyes?" I asked in full disgust.

"Ah," She laughed - strangely enough (sarcasm included): I found that discomforting -, "Sherlock tends to use human parts as an experiment. It happens all the time."

I grabbed the jar and put it on the table. I found it discomforting, disgusting, sickening, but I also found it extremely fascinating. You see eyes in their 'case', with eyelids and eyelashes and everything. I now saw a jar full of white balls, that used to sit in people's heads. I slapped myself internally, when did I ever think this way? I'm only here for a day, and I think a couple of eyes in a jar are _fascinating. _I put them back in the microwave as Mrs. Hudson asked me something.

"Did you already have breakfast, dear?"

"Er, no, actually. I was searching for products I could make pancakes with, but I got... distracted." I answered, not finding any good words to fill that sentence with.

"I was just on my way to go to the supermarket, would you like me to take some ingredients with me?"

Honestly, this woman was a saint.

"I'll go with you, if you don't mind, it's the least I could do." I answered, with a smile, "I only need to dress myself, and then I'll be down.".

She smiled back at me, muttered 'of course, dear' and left the kitchen.

I hastily grabbed some clothes, went to the bathroom to shower, and dressed myself. I put on my coat, grabbed my smart phone and then I went downstairs. I knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door and we were outside in the next minute. We talked a bit, until we arrived at the supermarket. We did our shopping in thirty minutes - five minutes spend Mrs. Hudson on 'should I buy more milk or not?'. I carried three of the bags, while the older woman carried the least heavy one. "I got my hip," she explained.

I was thinking, when I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. I snapped my head to the left only to find a smiling Jamie.

"Hi Kate."

He seemed honestly happy to see me, and I must say: I'm happy to see him as well. He wasn't soaked this time - luckily, neither was I -, and that made him only prettier. His chocolate-brown hair was lighter now, and I still couldn't decide whether his eyes were green or grey.

"Hey," I smiled, a little surprised by seeing him.

"Er, how are you?" He asked, a little awkwardly.

"I'm fine, and you?" I said since didn't exactly know what else to say to him.

"Er, I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out," he said, still awkward but it wasn't there anymore when he saw my smile that was just made bigger by me, "sometime.".

"I'm just heading back to 221B Baker Street," his eyebrows raised, "to make pancakes. Care to come with me?"

"Yes," he grabbed two of the bags I was carrying, "let me carry that for you."

* * *

I laughed, dipped my fingertip in the pancake-mix and wiped the mix off on his nose.

We hadn't made much pancakes so far, actually, we made 4 of them, but every pancake had something wrong with it. Burned, greenish, with too many bits in it or just simply not cooked well enough. We were almost out of pancake-mix, because it was either used or on our faces. Scratch eating breakfast, I'd rather do this.

"You're going to regret that!" He yelled - only he wasn't really convincing trying to be aggressive: he smiled -, placing his hands at my thighs, and throwing me on his back. As a reaction I screamed and laughed at the same time. I realized I hadn't this much fun since my mum disappeared. Also, I realized - when I was trying to imagine how we'd look like if someone else saw us - that I was like a taco and he was the ingredients in it. I smirked at that thought. He was running towards the couch with me on his shoulder when we heard a cough.

I looked up, but couldn't see anything because Jamie turned around. I felt Jamie's muscles tighten when he put me back on the ground. I straightened my shirt, blushed and coughed awkwardly.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes." Jamie greeted, not in a happy way, more in a disappointed and 'I've been caught'-way.

I gave him a strange look. Mr. Holmes? That certainly wasn't Sherlock. I didn't think of the possibility he might have family. So what was he to Sherlock? He was too young to be a father to the detective, so most likely to be a brother, then. Although, they hadn't much similarities.

"Good day, Mr. Smith. Would you mind, I'd like to have a word with Miss Gibbs." The man standing in the doorway said, in a demanding voice. I think he's done that a lot, at least, it sounded that way.

I wanted to stop Jamie as he walked away, but something held me from that. If Jamie was leaving me with this man, it meant that he trusted him. I didn't trust the man yet, in his fancy grey suit and blue tie, but it was good enough for me. And if something did happen, Jamie knew who was last with me.

"Better to turn that off, Miss Gibbs." He said, as he pointed with his umbrella - really? The man didn't seem to be like Mary Poppins - towards the kitchen. I realized that the stove was still on and practically run towards it to turn it off. When I came back, the man sat in the chair Sherlock sat in most of the time.

"What do you want?" I asked, not trying to be rude but it came out of my mouth that way, while I leaned against the wall nearby the door.

"Please sit down, Miss Gibbs," as he gave me an observant look, he continued, "We don't want you to stay here all day and do nothing with your free time, such as... entertaining yourself."

As he instructed, I sat down at John's chair. I felt a little awkward when he said that last bit.

"So?"

"We want you to go to school. We know it's the best for you, and you're a smart-looking young woman: you know that too."

"We?"

"John doesn't want you to sit all day at Baker Street. And I wanted to see you for myself."

"I'm sixteen, I don't have to go to school."

He gave me a stern look as response. My irritation towards the man grew - I recognized it as anger if it worsened. First, he interrupts Jamie and I and then he just commands me to go to school?

"Who the hell do you think you are? You can't control me, I don't even who you are!"

"Ah, Mycroft, commanding like always, are we?" My head snapped towards the door so fast, I almost wondered if I hadn't broken my neck. Sherlock and John were standing in the doorway, Sherlock undoing his scarf as I looked at them both.

"Hello, dear brother." Mycroft said.

I didn't even noticed any noise that came from the stairs, so it was an understatement when I said I was surprised. Sherlock observed me as well when he took his jacket off. John gave me a look as well, but I couldn't decide which emotion it belonged to. John began to take his coat off. I watched the man in front of me again. He was staring into his brothers eyes and Sherlock did the same.

It seemed like there was a brother rivalry going on here. I imagined the two fighting about Action Man's or challenging each other to draw the prettiest painting. It was very hard to imagine the two as young kids, but somehow I pictured them into their blue pajamas with teddy-bears. I giggled at that thought, although I was still annoyed.

The three men all put their gaze on me. They all looked confused: trying to figure out what was so funny. I felt my cheeks grow hot as they stared at my. The only thing I did in response was looking down and coughing awkwardly.

I wondered if Jamie was waiting for me downstairs or at the street, but I figured he probably wasn't since he knew 'Mr. Holmes' and Sherlock. Still, I got the immense desire to peek down the window to check.

John suddenly walked over to the kitchen, I immediately followed him because I didn't want to be in the room with the two brothers anymore. I glanced over to the street but of course, I didn't see anything other than just taxi's, cars and people. John turned the kettle on and looked me in the eye when I stood next to him.

"You know..." I said, clearly with doubt in my voice because I didn't know what to say to him, "You should have asked me or at least informed me on what you were thinking."

"I know," he said as he took four teacups of the cabin, "But I texted Mycroft to be sure you are going to school. It's something you need and I wouldn't let you to sit around all day here in Baker Street. He could get you in a school, for sure. "

He stood in front of me while he said that. I smiled, he was really looking out for me. I hugged him and felt his arms around me.

"Thank you." I mumbled, probably loud enough for John to hear but I was almost hundred percent sure that the two brothers couldn't hear it.

"You're welcome."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for reading the story, it means much to me. Also, I'd highly appreciate it if you and the others will review my story. That'd be amazing! **

**I wrote this chapter actually in +5000 words, but my beta 'jack63kids' - who has helped me with this chapter - suggested I should split it into two chapters. I agreed with her, so I did. BUT, I have to rewrite the ending of chapter 6 since I was not pleased with it. It's only a small scene, so it means that chapter 6 would be up today or tomorrow. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I sighed as I walked through the hallway of St. Marylebone School. I saw tons of girls, all hugging each other like they hadn't seen anybody for a year or maybe more. They all were talking in such high-pitched voices that I got a headache from it. Okay, I can understand you want to hug your friends after a holiday, but it's Monday. Bloody _Monday!_ It's about two hours after midday and I'm walking here in this hallway - luckily I don't have anymore classes today so I can go home right away - feeling alone with a headache. I sighed again.

I figured I wanted to wear an uniform, because then I won't get immediately judged. Teenage girls can be so mean, I thought. They might think I'm poor, they would share their thoughts with friends, they talk about it with other friends and in one minute every girl at this Girls' School would know something about me which I'm not.

I don't know how John, Sherlock and Mycroft could have persuaded me to go to school again. I know school's important and I need it, but finding my mum is my top priority right now. I can't concentrate on homework while my mum is missing. I know I should tell Sherlock and John about my mum, and I had a deal with myself that I would tell them today or tomorrow. Or the day after that, or the day after that... No, I would definitely tell them today or tomorrow. If not, I will not allow myself to go anywhere near Jamie again. And I know that isn't possible, since we grew so close since Mycroft's visit, so I am pretty sure John and Sherlock will know by the end of the week. It's Monday now, so I could manage that. Plenty of time.

I wish mum was here, she would be so proud. Of course, it wasn't my first school day or something like that, but because I'm independent now. If it wasn't for my search through Britain - well, I only visited three different places but let's imagine, shall we? - I wouldn't be here right now. I would be living with Aunt Patty, and God knows for how long I can manage that without being unhappy.

I feel like I'm happy again. I love that John and Sherlock - mostly John, though - are looking out for me, and I haven't done anything for them. I felt guilty about that, to be honest. I love London; I love the streets, the cabs, the people in it and the adventures. I don't have much adventures, but I knew they were out there. Almost every night I am alone, because Sherlock and John are on the streets chasing criminals. I am a little jealous I couldn't go with them. Maybe_, __maybe_ there was a slight chance I could run with them if I told them about my mum. I smiled at that thought; that would be amazing.

John told me this morning, while Sherlock was at Scotland Yard, that he was surprised that the detective could manage to be so patient with me. He said he suspected Sherlock to be cranky, and angry towards me because I wouldn't tell them. The doctor said that his flatmate tended to be so if he hadn't enough data for an interesting case. And he was sure it had to be interesting, since Sherlock is acting this way. Although, I had to say, he was a little moody the last couple of days. Since Mycroft visited, actually.

In the mean time, while I was thinking - god, I love to think - I had grabbed my coat, put it on and had put my books in my blue backpack - a small one this time, I bought it with Mrs. Hudson - to take them home. Since I missed about a month of school, teachers love to give me extra homework. I jumped with joy internally - sarcasm included - because I have to do at least three hours of homework.

My belly rumbled as I walked outside. I put my hand on my belly, thinking it would help, and looked down at it. I hadn't eaten today, since I get nauseous whenever I eat. It doesn't matter what or when, I just feel sick while and after I eat. Just becoming sick, I guess. So no, I assure you I am not pregnant. I'm still a virgin. Yes, Katy Gibbs, 16-year-old: stubborn teenager, is a virgin. Honestly, I've never had such interests, although I feel pushed since one in every hundred people at high school is a virgin.

Plus, I didn't even know anybody who I loved. Not even Jamie. Sure, he was nice and funny and adorable, but I wasn't really in love yet.

When I looked up, I almost jumped - no sarcasm included this time. There was Jamie, I hadn't expected him at all. I didn't even know he knew I was going to school here. As soon as we locked eyes, we both smiled and he ran towards me to hug me.

"Hi there," he mumbled into my shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" I said as I pulled away, and gave a little smile so he knew I was pleased to see him.

"Can't a guy just check how his girlfriend is doing?"

I frowned at the 'his girlfriend' part. As far as I know, we weren't a couple. We still aren't one. We hadn't even kissed yet! I wanted to quote 'Girlfriend?' and demand an answer, when I saw his eyes were a little red. I knew he was homeless - Sherlock hired him to get him information - but he had a place to stay, so he shouldn't be tired. I smelled him, just to be sure.

"Jamie! Since when did you start smoking?! And weed?!" I almost yelled, out of desperation. My voice was full of disappointment, and I could clearly see he was affected by that. He tried to give me a hug but I stepped away, "I thought that you were better than that!"

"Katy, I.." He stepped closer to me, and I immediately took one step backwards, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" I felt my eyebrows going upwards, "What kind of pathetic excuse is that?"

Jamie stared at his shoes as he mumbled, "I don't know." I looked at him, actually looking. He had a blue shirt on - which was wrinkled - and his brown jacket he always wore. He wore blue jeans, they were also wrinkled and had holes in them. He had his out-worn black All-Stars on. His face was full of worry, and that made his face look old. But it was kind of cute, too. I decided I shouldn't fall for his cute face, I should be mad at him. His chocolate-brown hair was messy as always.

"Since when?" I asked, as soon as I calmed down.

"I don't know... a couple of months ago, I guess?"

I sniffed, deciding I wanted to go to 221B.

"I have to go, I've tons of homework." I said, looked him in the eyes and walked away. I congratulated myself for using that lame excuse - which was true, by the way - and getting away with it.

"KATE!" I heard, "I'll call you!"

I ignored him and remembered Sherlock demanded that I should take a cab, or that I should walk. At this point, I wanted to go home as fast as possible. I got a cab rather easily and sat down.

* * *

"I demand an answer, Kate!" John yelled at me as he stood up from his chair.

Sherlock and John were in their usual chairs - well, John not anymore - and I was sitting on the sofa. We all had enjoyed a cup of tea when John noticed I smelled like weed as he gave one to me. Sherlock was just sipping his tea, watching us fight and - oddly enough - said nothing.

"That's your answer! I do not smoke weed!" I yelled at him back, also standing up from my sitting tool. I tried to explain it, _again_, calmly to him, "Jamie hugged me, and after that I noticed! Jamie does smoke, I don't!"

"I don't believe you!" he exclaimed.

I tried to calm myself but I failed miserably. I looked at Sherlock.

"Why aren't you saying anything? You know it's true! I do not smoke!" I yelled at the detective, he only shrugged in response. John seemed to calm down every moment while fighting, as I did the opposite.

"You know," he said calmly, "smoking is bad for you. We don't want-"

"I DO NOT SMOKE WEED!" I almost screamed. Sherlock and John recovered from the sound, but it was too late; I already had my coat on and was halfway at the stairs when I knew John was standing in the doorway from their apartment.

"We do not want you to smoke weed, it's unhealthy and it's bad for you, especially after what happened to your mother!"

The door was already opened, with my hand on the doorknob, and that movement was frozen after I realized what John had said, or better: blurted out.

After a few seconds of calmly - sarcasm included - breathing in and out, I turned my head to face John. I could see regret in his face, but also anger.

"You _what?_" I hissed. John opened his mouth but I interrupted him, "No, lose the effort; I don't even want to know."

I opened the door further and went outside. I still could hear Sherlock from inside saying "She does look like you, John." or something like that. I didn't know if I should have been offended by that, but it didn't matter: I was already striding on the sidewalk. I didn't know where I'd walk to, but I'd walk until I calmed myself.

How could they possibly know about my mother? They would most likely know about my father too, then. Oh god, what else did they know? And why didn't they tell me that they had known? I would expect that from Sherlock, but John? No, not from him. I felt betrayed, how could they do that to me? Searching through my past - which I didn't like, even talking about it with the people who've been the closest I didn't like - and lying to me. They honestly expected me to add something to their knowledge, especially when they had lied to me, even when the genius Sherlock Holmes is one of the two?

I wanted to kick something, to break something or embarrassing enough: go to mum. I wanted to hug her, to tell her how much I miss her and just wanting to see her everyday. But I knew that won't happen though, so I kicked an empty water bottle on the street. People stared at me and gave me weird looks as I made my hands into fists. I honestly - for the first time in my life - didn't care what people might think of me. I always tried to wear nice clothes and act normal, so that people thought I was nice. Now, I don't care at all.

I walked down a couple of blocks - still quite angry - when there was a black car stopping beside me. It certainly stopped, it wasn't parking. I thought it was for me, but I dismissed that thought. Who's going to pick me up? I walked down the street, and wanted to cross over but I was stopped by a black car. This time, I knew it was for me. Probably one of Sherlock's crazy friends. I knew it was suspicious, and I didn't know if it was my anger or curiosity that made my choice: but I opened the door and sat down.

There was a young adult female sitting next to me. I tried to catch her gaze but she was busy with her Blackberry. I must admit, she was quite pretty; she had beautiful hair and her clothes were expensive, anyone could see that. I chose to be silent because one, I didn't want to interrupt her and two, if I had talked, I would probably snap or yell at her.

We were in the car for about ten minutes when we stopped in front of a big, fancy and classy building. Next to the door there was a sign that said 'The Diogenes Club'. Sounded quite posh.

The female gave me a meaningful look, which I took as a sign to leave the car and go into the building. I rolled my eyes to all the mysteriousness around this and looked around the hall. It was indeed fancy, classy and posh. A man in a black suit came up to me and signed that I should follow him, no talking. I tended to yell and scream and talk the hell out of this man, just to annoy him. I knew I couldn't do that and felt some disappointment.

So I followed him, looking around with interest. I wasn't sure if I'd ever been in a place so fancy. We entered a large room. At this point, my curiosity had taken over but I felt my anger - as if it was sleeping and it was now waking up - again when I saw a man in a fancy suit sitting in front of a fireplace. There was a small table with a lamp next to the chair which the man sat on, and next to that there was a chair similar to other one. I sat on that one.

"Good afternoon, Miss Gibbs," Mycroft said.

"Afternoon."

"How's school?"

"Great," I lied, not that the school itself was horrible but I just wanted to search for my mum, "thanks for that, actually. I appreciate the effort." That was true.

"How nice to hear that." He smiled and I found that quite scary. Smiling was not fitting for the man and it was fake, for sure. He observed me for a few seconds, and by every second I grew more uncomfortable. He seemed to wake up out of his thoughts as I asked something.

"Is this all? Because I don't think you're the type to waste your time with chitchat," I said but unsure. Mycroft seemed and probably was a very powerful man. I didn't know what he did exactly with his career, but I knew he was a person to be afraid of.

"Very observant, Miss Gibbs," he smirked, "but you are correct." He coughed awkwardly, "I wanted you here to inform you that I take full responsibility of what happened today with my brother and Dr. Watson."

I crossed my legs and straightened my back; I found this really interesting. I was intrigued and afraid of the man, because if you know about the existence of a conversation while you weren't there yourself, admit it: that was quite frightening. But then again, it is Mycroft Holmes. He and his brother seemed both to have the gift to seem scary and are incredibly intelligent. I let out a small laugh when I realized Mycroft wasn't the caring brotherly type.

"_You_ are taking responsibility for your brothers' actions? It was John's actually, but I doubt you aren't aware of that. Why would you do that?" I saw a flash of - what seemed like - hurt in Mycroft's face, but it was gone in less than half a second that I doubt it even was there.

"I actually do care about my brother."

"You don't seem to."

"Caring is a disadvantage, Miss Gibbs."

I thought about his statement for a moment: it was crazy how true that sentence was, actually. Look at me: my mum disappeared: I'm hurt and feel like there is something missing. Jamie lied to me: I'm hurt. John wouldn't believe me: I'm hurt _and_ angry. What good have all those feelings done for me? I certainly don't feel better, actually, I feel the opposite.

"Then why would you tell me?" He smirked in response. I'm not sure if I had said something stupid or that I just said something genius which he didn't have the answer to which explained the smirk. I don't know.

"Even if it was John, John would know from my brother. I requested kindly him to stop digging further in his case."

Why would Mycroft talk about a case which his brother was interfered in? Why'd he talk to me about that? Unless... Unless it is about my Mum! That'd explain everything: that John - and presumably Sherlock too - knows about the disappearance of my Mum. But why would Mycroft interfere with such a plain case? Geez, can't you just have a normal conversation with the Holmes' brothers without asking yourself everything.

"Or better said: my mum," he nodded, "So he had looked for my mum," Another nod, "Which means he must've found something, because if he hadn't, you wouldn't want him to stop." He seemed impressed by that last statement. I felt a little proud, which I thought I had every right to be.

"Very good, Miss Gibbs," I felt honored by his compliment. His face turned completely cold, "but I have to inform you that I have my men on this case, so I would rather be not interrupted by you, my brother or Dr. Watson."

What? This is absurd! This man, I don't even know him for a week, and he commands me to not interrupt him?

"You have no right to do that!" I exclaimed as I stood up.

"I have every right," he said, coldly.

"This is my _mother._"

"Yes, and if you want to see her ever again, I suggest you follow my instructions."

I wanted to say something but my mouth was suddenly covered by a blue plastic glove. I was being held by two men in black suits. I gave Mycroft an - I hope - angry look, not that he should be afraid by that but it just felt good. I was being pushed through the hallway I walked in a couple of minutes ago, one last push to get me outside. Once I was, the doors closed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, I promise that it'll be more of a casefic after this chapter. I just had to build Katy's (FRIENDLY) relationship with John and Sherlock and vice versa in the previous chapters. This chapter is not so long, though, but it's because this chapter was rewritten.**

**Thanks for my Beta 'jack63kids'. I appreciate her help, you guys should check out her stories: they're really good. :)**

* * *

As soon as I reached Regent's Park, the clouds darkened and it began to rain slowly. I cursed myself for forgetting my phone at 221B, since I wanted to check the time. I don't know if it was coincidence but Jamie was there, near a park bench. He was standing, and his three other friends, I supposed, were sitting on the bench. I saw smoke through the rain, so there was no question about what they were doing. Oddly enough, it didn't matter to me and just walked towards them.

I heard and saw them laughing, but that all stopped when Jamie saw me and ran towards me. I noticed there was a joint in his hand. He was unsure what to do when he saw I noticed, so I smiled to make him more comfortable.

"What are you doing here?" Jamie asked with honest concern.

"Can't a girl just check how her boyfriend is doing?" I teased.

He smiled, hugged me and kissed the top of my head.

"Now be honest though, what's the matter? I called you a hundred times, why weren't you answering?."

"I was... away."

He pulled away, only far enough to look me in the eyes. His eyes contained concern, but of course, they were red. It didn't bother me this time, though. This moment reminded me of how we'd met: sure, we weren't hugging but he looked exactly the same then as he looked now, without the red eyes of course.

"Do you want to meet my friends?"

"Sure."

The arm with the joint in his hand slipped off my back and one arm remained around the shoulders. We turned around and walked towards his friends. As we did this they began to whistle. I laughed and Jamie soon joined in. When we were at the bench, he introduced us.

"Okay, from left to right," as he pointed towards the guys, "this is Billy, Rick and Paul. This is Katy."

I smiled as they waved when their names were called. Billy and Rick looked like each other, so I figured they were brothers. They all seemed older than me. Not surprising, Jamie was reaching his eighteenth birthday. All four eyes were red, which I found quite funny looking.

"D'you smoke?" Billy asked.

"No, I don't."

"Want to try?" he offered.

I looked at Jamie, still a bit unsure. Yes, weed was bad for you and it was illegal, but I definitely could use some relaxing right now. One try wouldn't be so bad, right?

"Sure."

* * *

I was sitting in a plastic chair with blue cushions, somewhere in a police station I was brought into. Paul, Rick and Jamie already had left, because their parents or in Jamie's case, foster parents, had picked them up. I was scared what Sherlock and John might think. Would they be angry? Yes Katy, of course they'd be angry. You are the one who's using drugs! Well, I'm not addicted to them but I have used them. Oh, and Mum would be upset. She'd be disappointed in me, and I knew that was bad. If that happened, it meant that the situation was very bad.

Would Sherlock and John be disappointed in me, too? I didn't know. They had known me for a few weeks, but would they care about me enough? John might, but I was sure Sherlock didn't care. I knew that for sure.

I placed my hands before my eyes and realized how fast it all happened. First, they were in the park. Then, after an hour or so, police arrived. I didn't know how they knew about our exact location, because the two panda cars were certainly not patrolling. The police asked us a couple of procedural questions such as 'What is your name?' and 'Who are your parents?'. Jamie had been difficult with the police but I didn't dare to be. I answered politely and gave the numbers of Sherlock and John to them. I was sobered up by the time we walked into the station.

It surprised me that it took so long for the detective and the doctor to get me. Most of the time they were quick, but I assume they were on a case right then. I also grew more scared by the second. How would they react? Would they throw me out of their apartment? What would they think?

The door opened and the hands before my eyes immediately were removed. A blonde woman entered, I noticed she had a glass of water in her hand.

"Fancy a glass?" she asked as she pointed at the glass of water.

"Yes, thank you," I tried to smile, but I think it turned more into a grimace than a smile. She walked up to me and offered the glass which I took gratefully.

"Do you want a biscuit, too?"  
I felt a wave of nausea only at the word, I wouldn't dare to think what would happen when I actually ate one.

"No, thank you." I said and took a sip.

"Okay," she said and she left the room.

This woman was so nice to me even though I had committed a crime. Well, it wasn't a bad crime but I saw it as a one. I would never do it again and I think I won't allow Jamie to do so, either.

I realized I was bored after I finished my glass of water. I noticed there was a rubber band around my wrist and decided I'd plait my still wet hair. Just moments after I was finished braiding plaiting, the blonde woman from five minutes ago entered the room again.

"Ready to go, Katy? Your parents are here," she said. First, I looked at her confused because my parents couldn't be in London, but I nodded when I realized she meant Sherlock and John. I swallowed as I stood up; I actually felt nervous to face my 'parents', "Follow me then."

I followed her; it wasn't a long walk. We turned left one time, but that was it. We entered a large room as I saw Sherlock and John waiting near a desk. They were looking at me too, that made me only more nervous. John gave me a stern look, as I expected, but Sherlock's face was blank. When the woman and I had reached them, we were silent. I didn't know what to say, and I rather wanted to wait for them to say something.

"We did all the paperwork, you can go now," the woman said to me, nodded [/nodding] to Sherlock and John as she gave a smile. John returned the nod while Sherlock observed me. The woman walked away and I coughed awkwardly.

"Let's go, then," John said.

I was confused, weren't we going to talk about this? It was unlikely, no: it was impossible. John had to say something at least, since he was so mad about the suspicion of me smoking weed, and now it was confirmed. He should be furious, yelling at me and punishing me - even if I wasn't his kid.

They walked through the door and hailed a cab once we were outside. I thought the awkwardness couldn't be much worse than this, fate proved me wrong: I sat between Sherlock and John in the cab. I couldn't look to my left or right in fear that I might one of them in the eye, so I stared in front of me, preparing myself for what was to come.

Sherlock didn't seem angry, to be honest: he looked bored. But I hadn't expect much from him. John's body seemed tense, so I figured he was angry. Not as much as I expected him to be, though. Sherlock turned his head towards me and I felt his gaze. The ride home was probably five minutes or less, but it felt much longer to me. John paid the cabby as Sherlock and I were already walking towards the door of 221B.

The detective opened the door and we walked upstairs when I saw John close the door. Once I was upstairs, I saw Sherlock already sitting in his chair staring at me, again. I took my coat off and sat down on my 'bed'. John immediately headed to the kettle. He turned it on and then took his coat off as well. In the meantime, I pulled up my legs and put my blanket over them.

A minute or two later, we all got a cup of tea in our hands. I grew suspicious and curious because they hadn't talked for the whole time. For Sherlock it was a great achievement, though. After a couple of sips of my tea, I got frustrated and put the cuppa on the table in front of me.

"So? Where's the yelling? Aren't you angry? Because if my daughter got arrested, I am certain I would be." I said, demanding an explanation. John and Sherlock looked each other in the eye.

"We aren't responsible for your actions," Sherlock said.

"Besides, you seem to regret it. It was probably just experimenting. Although I am a little disappointed in you," John added. I felt guilty, after he said that, but I hadn't expect anything else. I didn't want to get yelled at, so I just left it at that.

"Tell me then, how were you able to figure out what happened to my mother?" I asked, picking up my cuppa and sipping it. I was genuinely interested in how they'd discovered, but also a bit betrayed. I decided to ignore the latter feeling.

"I knew your name, of course I had searched for it on the police database," Sherlock said unimpressed, "But I can't rely on the police file; most of the DI's are imbeciles. I hoped for a detailed explanation from you, but you weren't comfortable with that. So we waited until you were."

"Would you now tell us?" John asked cautiously.

"Well, I guess I owe you that."


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks for my wonderful Beta 'jack63kids' for helping me with all the chapters I have so far written. And I'm sorry it took so long; please don't kill me. This chapter is not as long as the others and the next one will be the same, I think. The new chapter is up Saturday, but no promises since I'm bad with timing things.  
**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I went upstairs to my bedroom to find a black dress, my favourite, on my bed. The dress was fully black, had a v-neck, and around my waist it was pleated all the way to my knees. The pleated skirt had glitter in it, that made it my favourite. I found my black flats Daddy bought me for wearing when I searched under my pink bed 'for princesses', Daddy always said.

Daddy isn't here anymore; today is his funeral. I think it is horrible that Daddy died, he'd have liked to see me in secondary school and see my kids, and my husband! But now he won't, because he died. Mummy said I feel like I have to cry all the time, but I know Mummy needed me to be strong. Mummy was crying a lot, and then I'd hug her.

I put my dress and flat shoes on, and a black cardigan with a small 'Hello Kitty!' on the front, I chose that one myself. I went to the bathroom and combed my light brown hair. In the summer it was nearly blonde, which I found pretty. When the weather was beginning to get colder, my hair turned brown. When I was finished combing, I went downstairs to find Mummy with a handkerchief, wiping her tears away from her eyes and cheeks. When she saw me, she smiled warmly, but her eyes were still sad.

"Oh my," Mummy said, picking me up - I wondered how she could still do that; Daddy always teased me how heavy I was, "You look lovely, Katy."

"Don't be sad Mummy, I don't like when you're crying," I whispered as I hugged her. After I heard a sigh from Mum, and she talked after that.

"Would you like to have your hair in a ponytail?" Mummy asked, and I nodded in response, "Come on then."

She walked upstairs, towards the bathroom and put me down. When she found a rubber band, she grabbed the comb and began to gather my hair. We stood there for five minutes, Mummy smiling the whole time and I stared to the mirror; wondering why she could still smile. She was sad, right? How could she still smile?

An hour and some minutes later, Mummy and I were holding hands in a church. There were a lot of people; Auntie Patty, Granny Gibbs, Granny Jones, and other family members and friends. I didn't know all of them but they all sent me and my Mum a wholeheartedly smile. I didn't know what to do, so I smiled back. All the people seemed very sad, especially Mummy. Auntie Patty was holding hands with Mummy too, on the other side. We were still sitting, listening to the people in front, including my Mummy but she was the first to speak about Daddy, but I hadn't listened to all of them; I only observed them. I found it comforting that so many people cared about my Dad. Their faces were sad, and they all had tears in their eyes. I wanted to cry too, but I knew I should keep strong for my Mummy and the other people.

But there was one person who hadn't looked sad; he was an - fairly young, around the twenties, I guessed - Afro-American, Daddy told me to call those people that name. I always thought that was a fancy and a long name for people. I didn't see how they were different than other people, only that they had a dark skin color. The man was wearing a black suit, white shirt and a black tie, but even I could tell it wasn't expensive. He was sitting on the last bench in the church and he was smiling. His smile wasn't warm nor it was just on his mouth; it was in his eyes. I wanted Mummy to protect me from that man, because he was strange-looking.

Then, Mummy suddenly stood up. I didn't know what happened, so I just stood up as well. Mummy and I were still holding hands, and I could feel a squeeze on my hand. Mummy walked towards the black coffin, I followed her. There was a big bouquet of white and black roses and other flowers on the coffin, in front of the photo of my smiling Dad. Daddy seemed so happy there, and I could only hope he was happy now; in Heaven.

We stopped beside the coffin. Mummy and I both looked at the photo. I felt tears coming, but I didn't try to suppress them; I'd let them flow. I did this because Mummy, Auntie and other people might think I'm weird if I don't cry. A few other kids had bullied me in the past, because they thought I was weird. I didn't like that, and since then I do what people expect me to do because I don't want to be weird. Mummy and Daddy are always saying that people were not nice sometimes and I didn't have to listen to them all the time. I found that strange, because I had to listen to Mummy and Daddy all the time, right?

Mummy was already crying, and squeezed my hand again. My eyes were really wet now. I grabbed a black rose from the bouquet and held it in my free hand, treasuring it. I felt something wet gliding over my cheek, and I realized they were tears. The first one came from my left eye, and I counted them; Daddy had learnt me to count.

I think I was at thirteen, but I couldn't really tell since my cheeks were wet and I couldn't count them as good as the first couple of tears, when Mummy looked at me and nodded towards her right. I nodded in understanding, and we walked towards our right around the coffin, into another room. The room was filled with tables and seats, and on the wall there was a large table with delicacies on it.

I looked back towards the coffin, as we entered the room, and I noticed other people were standing around the coffin now and they were crying too. My crying had already stopped, Mum's hadn't. I looked forward again but I saw a glimpse of someone else, the Afro-American man entering the room. Mummy's hand tightened around mine.

"What are you doing here?" She said, clearly trying to contain her anger. The man ignored her and he walked over to me.

"What a lovely daughter you have," he said in an American accent as he crouched. "What's your name, little girl?" The appearance of the man didn't quite fit how he spoke, I decided; I found him weird.

"Get out, _now,_" Mummy said. The man smiled, stood up and nodded to my Mum, I found that I didn't like that. He walked away. I think it was strange how Mummy reacted because she really was angry, but I hadn't had time to think about that because people were entering the room and said their condolences to me and Mummy.

* * *

I was still holding my black rose from Daddy's coffin bouquet, and in my other hand was Mummy's hand on the ride back home. I was tired, and leant against Mummy. We were sitting in the back of the black car, a family friend named Charly was driving. Mummy was sitting by the window, but she was looking at me instead of looking outside. If I could finally look outside through a car's window, I would always do that. I only can see the top of the trees and street lamps and the top of the houses now. But I was still small for my age, kids from my class always teased me about that.

I squeezed my black rose and got a scratch from one of the rose's thorns. It hurt me but I didn't say anything. I liked the silence. I looked down to the rose and remembered the creepy man. It was only a brief moment between Mummy and the dark-skinned man, but I was scared. Even in the ride back home, I was scared. There was something about that man and Mummy got angry only at the sight of him. But why? I know people are not nice sometimes, but Daddy always told me I must treat people in a way I want to be treated. But the I wanted Mummy and Daddy to protect me, but I only have Mummy now, Daddy was dead.

Daddy was dead.

I didn't like that, not at all. Daddy's weren't supposed to die when their kids were young. Only if they were grandfathers, then it should happen; a life circle, Mummy explained to me a while ago.

"Mummy, are we going to be alone now?" I asked as I lifted my head and made eye-contact with Mummy. She was sad, I could see that.

"Yes, honey," She answered as she gave a sad smile. She dropped her head towards me and placed a kiss on my temple, "But we have each other."


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to my amazing Beta 'jack63kids' as always. And I'm sorry guys for the time between the old chapters and the new chapters, it's really hectic at school and sports, and I think I might suffer from the Writers-block disease. But those are not your problems, so I will not talk about them any further.**

**Disclaimer: The songs used in this chapter are NOT mine.**

**Enjoy, and please review!**

* * *

I am walking to my home, as I always do after school. It's not even two-hundred meters, I think. I smile as I grab my key out of my pocket and open the door. After all, it has been a good day; I've got good grades, I woke up to _not_ finding any presents downstairs and my friends had bought me cake that we'd eaten at lunch. They shouldn't have done that, but I hadn't protested because I like cake and it's better than presents. Well, I do like them, but most of the time they aren't what I have wanted. Then I have to pretend and I hate pretending.

Mum wasn't home yet and I wasn't surprised. She always had to work late and today wouldn't be any different. I took my backpack off and threw it on the sofa and did the same with my coat. I walked over to the kitchen to grab a packet of crisps, a glass and a can of Coke. I filled the empty glass with the liquid and put the Coke back in the fridge. I grab the glass and crisps and take them with me to the sofa. I turned the television on with the remote as I lay my feet on the table in front of the sofa.

_PING!_

I grab my mobile phone out of my pocket to see a message from Mum. That was surprising, she usually couldn't talk or text if she was at work.

**[RECEIVED AT: 13:08] FROM: Mum**

**Happy Birthday, honey! I know I've already said this, but you can't say it enough to your daughter, can you? ;) I'll pick you up at six. Love, Mum.**

I don't know if it was coincidence or not, but I found it weird that Mum send three messages in three days, all at the same time. The first one:

**[RECEIVED AT: 13:08] FROM: Mum**

**Sure you don't want any presents for your birthday, sweetie? Love, Mum.**

And the second one:

**[RECEIVED AT: 13:08] FROM: Mum**

**For the last time I'll ask you this: do you really do not want a present or of some sorts? Love, Mum.**

Mummy loves presents - she's the opposite of me in birthday's; I find them dull but I like the sudden attention, it's nice for one day. Anyway, she simply doesn't understand that I don't want any. Also, it was weird to see that my phone automatically changes the settings when Mum sends a message. I have already changed the time from 13:08 to 1:08 PM two times and I have to do it today again. Not that it requires skills and utter concentration, but even small things can drive you crazy.

**[SEND AT: 1:10 PM] SEND TO: Mum**

**Okay, Mum. See you tonight. x**

Every time we eat in a restaurant, it's Barry's, so I figured we would be eating there. Barry is a friend of ours who has a restaurant. It's like home in there; cozy and pleasant. Mum and Barry grew closer after Dad died, nothing more than friends I hope.

I promised myself that I'd shower and make myself ready for dinner at five o'clock, knowing that Mum would be early; she always is.

* * *

Mum and I stepped out of the car and walked towards the entrance of the restaurant.

"Isn't it open?" I asked Mum, after seeing that the lights were out.

"I thought it was," she answered. She tried to open the door and succeeded. "That's weird."

We entered the restaurant, Mum in front of me, walking about two meters from the door.

"I'll call Barry," she said but made no movement to grab her phone out of her pocket. I frowned, wondering what was going on, but it soon turned into a startle.

"Surprise!" I heard, as the lights turned on and I saw a few people. I recognized them as Barry and a few friends from school; Alice, Kylie, Scarlett and Rosie. They all stood with their hands up in the air and a smile on their faces. On a table somewhere in the middle stood a birthday cake. There were balloons and above the table was a 'Happy Birthday!'-garland hanging.

My startled face turned into a big smile as I realized what was going on. Mum was the first to congratulate me, Barry followed. Then I walked over to my friends, giving them hugs and saw presents lying on a couple of chairs.

"I already thought it was suspicious when you weren't giving me presents at school," I laughed. "But you guys really shouldn't buy them for me."

"Kate! Are you crazy? Of course we'll give you presents for your birthday!" Kylie said as she gave me her present; it was a framed picture of me, her, Scarlett and Alice. We were young in the photo, probably five years ago, when we were still in primary school. We were all smiling and our arms were over each others' shoulders.

"Thank you! This is so sweet," I thanked her, as the other girls gave me their presents. It was nothing special, just coupons for certain clothing stores and a promise from Alice that she'd buy me lunch sometime.

"Honey, I've a present too," Mum said after she had walked over to me. "I know you didn't want any presents, but I think you'll like this one."

She gave me a present in the shape of a square, not that big. It was wrapped in pink paper with dots of different colors and a yellow ribbon on top of it. I slowly removed the ribbon and the paper to see another framed picture. Though, this one was more special than Kylie's. It had a grey frame and there was a photo in color in it. The photo was taken on a beach; the sea was in the background. There were people, some of them families, playing in the sand and some sitting on towels or blankets. There was something familiar about this photograph, but I couldn't put my finger on it. The three people in the middle of the picture were wearing bathing suits; the sun was just above the horizon. I recognized the people in the photograph as me, Mummy and Daddy. We were smiling, my hair was in a messy ponytail and I had sand all over my legs and belly and Dad only on his knees and shinbone. There was a sandcastle next to us.

"Do you remember our holiday in New York, Belle Harbor?" Mum asked. I simply nodded, overwhelmed by this present. I had never seen this photograph of the three of us. I thought I had seen all the photographs, at least the ones which Dad was in. I gave her a hug and a peck on her cheek as a thanks. Mum smiled in return when we pulled away.

* * *

_"And now she's looking for a downtown man... That's what I am,"_ Barry sung in front of the karaoke set, walking towards me as we sang 'Uptown Girl' from Billy Joel. _"And when she knows what she wants from her ty-y-ype,"_ he kneeled in front of me, took my hands as he looked me in the eyes, of course everybody in the room was crying from laughter; it is rather funny to see an old chubby guy with a beard, serenading the birthday girl. _"And when she wakes up and makes up her mi-i-ind. She'll see I'm not so tough, just because I'm in love with an uptown girl," _he stood up again, taking my hand and I walked with him towards my Mum.

_"You know I've seen her in the uptown world, she's getting tired of her high class toys,"_ My turn to sing with him. _"And all the presents from her uptown boys, she's got a choice."_

* * *

Barry gave me a knife to slice the birthday cake, Mum got some plates and forks and put them next to the cake. After a few songs of the karaoke we decided we wanted to eat, since we hadn't had dinner. We were talking, singing and laughing during and after giving the gifts.

"Thank you," I smiled and started to cut the cake.

"WAIT!" I heard Scarlett scream in my ear.

"Ouch, it may be my birthday, but I still have feelings," I laughed as I rubbed my ear.

"I'm sorry, but we still have to sing!"

"There's no way I'll let you guys do that."

"Well, at least blow out the candles I've bought," Mum said, I sighed in response. This would be the best case scenario when it's your birthday and my Mum is present. Mum grabbed some candles out of her purse and counted them to sixteen. She placed them on the cake and grabbed a lighter out of her pocket.

"Why do you have a lighter in your pocket?" I asked as I my eyebrows raised. "You've stopped smoking, haven't you?"

"Well, I may have started again."

"Mum!"

"Now is not the time to talk about that, honey; it's your birthday!" She said, as she lit up the candles.

"What are you going to wish, Katy?" Alice asked.

"Alice! She can't tell you that, or her wish won't come true," Rosie explained.

I took a deep breath, lowered my head and blew out all of the candles. Once they were all out, I felt a hand on the back of my head who pushed it forwards, into the cake. I heard some gasps and laughter around the room.

"Mmm, vanilla," I said just before I put my hand into the cake to grab some and straightened myself. I made eye contact with the five people, trying to figure out who had done it.

"It was Rosie," Kylie said with a serious face, as she pointed a finger towards Rosie.

"That's not true, you did it!" she yelped.

I grinned, and made a move towards her. She screamed and ran towards the other side of the table when Barry stopped her and held her in front of me. We all laughed when I pushed my hand full of cake in her face.

* * *

"Mum, would you sing with me this time?" I asked Mum. I saw that she hesitated and looked towards the clock, but she nodded.

"Okay, what song?"

"I'll pick a random one.. Goodbye from Avril Lavigne, that should do it." I started it, knowing that it's a sad song but I found it always comforting.

"Which color am I?"

"You're red, I'm blue. When we sing together, it's green."

_"Goodbye,_ _goodbye,_" The color went green._ "goodbye my love."_ The color went blue._ "I can't hide, can't hide, can't hide, what has come, I have to go."_ Red. _"I have to go. I have to go, and leave you all_ alone."

Mum seemed a little distressed but I didn't know why, I figured it was the slow singing and the repeating. The color turned green.

_"But always know, always know, always know that I love you so, I love you so."_

We finished the song and Mum hugged me. Of course I returned the hug; I would always do that but now there was something different. Like Mum had to cry, but why would she? It's a birthday and a really fun evening. Why would she be distressed?

* * *

I sat next to Kylie on a sofa somewhere in the restaurant. Scarlett, Alice and Rosie sat on the sofa to our right, laughing at Kylie because she just told us about her blunder with some guy. Barry and Mum were somewhere at the bar, I think.

"Oh shit, is it eleven o'clock already? I have to get up early in the morning," Scarlett explained. She stood up and walked towards the hallway where they had hung their coats. I walked with her.

"What do you have to do tomorrow?"

"Football match," she said as she put on her coat. "Again. It's always so early, why can't the match start at twelve o'clock? That would be much easier."

"Oh come on, you like it and you're talented," I smiled. "I should watch a match of yours, by the way. Seems fun."

"That's sweet but you don't have to. The game starts at nine and you'll be tired. Well, I have to go," she gave me a hug. "I'll see you, it has been fun. Bye!"

"Bye Scar!" I yelled behind her. I walked towards the girls to find them standing up. "You're going too?"

"Yes, it's late. It has been fun, Kate," Rosie answered.

"Hold on, maybe I can take the cab-ride with you, I'll ask Mum," I walked over to the bar where Barry stood. "Where's Mummy?"

"I don't know," he said before he drank the liquor in his glass.

"How do you mean, you don't know? She was with you, right?"

"No, I thought she was with you lot."

"Can you check if her car is still here?" I asked a little worried, getting my phone out of my pocket to call Mum.

_"Hello, this is the voice mail of Lauren Jones, please leave a message after the tone."_

"Mum, where are you? You haven't left, have you? Please call me back," I said, while Barry shook his head as an answer to my last question. "Did she leave a message?"

"Not if you mean a text, and I haven't seen any other message around the restaurant," he answered.

"Where the hell can she be?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Again, enormous thanks to my lovely Beta 'jack63kids', her help really makes the story better. As for you lovely readers, I'd like to know what your theories are! I gave a lot of hints and tips in the last chapter, and this one I provide you with one or two again. Love to hear your thoughts on the stories, too. Thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting and following the story! You are all awesome!**

**I'd like to give a shoutout to my lovely friend in real life 'xmarjanx', she's awesome and she really motivates me to continue writing - especially this story.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"We need to talk," Dad said. Mum sat on the sofa as I took a seat on the chair beside them. Mum and Dad shifted in their seats so they faced me.

I swallowed, because I knew it was never good when parents said 'we need to talk'. Scratch that, it's never a good sign when someone says it.

What did they have to talk about? Would they divorce? Had Mum or Dad found someone else to share their lives with? Are we going to move? Are _they_ going to move? Will they leave me?

"How can you do this to us?" Mum looked down and was playing with her bracelet as Dad said this. They both looked disappointed, and my heart dropped.

My mind was racing.

What did I do? I hadn't done anything that I wasn't allowed to do, right? No, I can't think of any. Why do they ask this?

"What... What did I do?" I asked, when they looked at me with undisguised anticipation.

"Katy Amelia Elizabeth Gibbs, you will give us an explanation about this, right _now._" Dad looked furious. I wasn't even sure if I'd ever seen him this heated before.

"What are you talking about?" I stood up, throwing my hands up in the air in frustration. "How can I give you an explanation when I don't even know what I've done?"

"You know very well what you've done."

"No I don't!"

Dad stood up and suddenly was standing by the window. I blinked, _when had he walked over to the window? _Dad lifted his arm and pointed to something outside.

"So how do you explain the car on the driveway? The car we aren't in ownership of? The car which got you nearly killed in an accident, only because you were too stubborn to listen to us?"

Where was he talking about? I have never driven a car before, how would I do that? I haven't even got my driver's license yet!

I walked over to Dad, wanting to see what he was pointing at. It only took a couple of steps to get to Dad, but from where I was standing it certainly seemed to take more than just two steps.

Outside, I saw a car which I recognized as a Nissan Skyline. It was black sports car, and found that I thought the car was ugly. _If I hate the car for his appearance, why the hell would I drive it?_

"I have never seen that car in my _life._"

"I don't believe you," Somewhere in my mind, I recognized that quote and found it familiar but I couldn't figure out why. Dad raised his chin as he corrected himself. "_We_ don't believe you."

"Why not?" I sighed. "Do you want an explanation? Fine, I'll give you one. First, I'm just as confused as you are. Perhaps even more so. Second, if the crash nearly got me killed, why is the car in perfect state and why am I not in the hospital? Third, I don't think you have a proper reas-"

I wanted to finish my sentence but the surrounding changed. Mum, Dad and I were standing in the middle of a field of flowers. Black roses, to be exact.

"Where are we?" I asked, a little worried.

Mum and Dad smiled sadly, and took each others' hands.

"Are you coming?" Mum asked as she and Dad turned around and walked away, turning her head ninety degrees. She asked it in a tone I wasn't familiar with.

I nodded in response, wanting to walk away with them but somehow I couldn't. The black roses were holding me back, almost grabbing me by the legs as if they had hands to hold me. I struggled and I tried to move, but I couldn't even take one step.

I looked towards Mum and Dad again, wanting to yell and scream but my mouth couldn't open. I saw they were about twenty meters away. Then fifty, then hundred, then two-hundred, after that I couldn't see them anymore.

Why did they leave without me? Did they think that I'd followed? But they would notice I hadn't, right? Right, I'll wait here until they are coming back to get me. Not that I have anywhere to go to; the roses are holding me back.

Suddenly, everything goes black. I felt my body sucked into the air, and felt utterly alone. Alone, like I hadn't had anybody to share my life with. Not in a romantic way, but it was just me, floating in the black air with nothing else in it.

* * *

I woke up sweating and with no quilt. I rubbed my eyes and let the real world sink in.

That wasn't the real Mum, nor the real Dad.

I felt my stomach twinge and stood up - too quickly, I couldn't see anything for some moments and I almost tripped over my quilt that was lying on the ground - and ran towards the bathroom; knowing what was coming. My oversized T-Shirt was clinging onto me, I was sweating like a pig. My hair felt wet but I hadn't the time to clean myself. I placed my two hands on the toilet seat and felt a rather disgusting and sour taste on my throat. The taste remained but the fluid didn't.

"John!" I heard Sherlock's voice yell from the kitchen - I presumed. "JOHN!"

I let myself sit, leaning against the wall and one arm still on the toilet seat. My head rested against the wall but was pointing - dangling - towards the toilet, just in case.

"What?" I heard John's sleepy and irritated voice ask.

"Katy, bathroom." After Sherlock said that, I heard hasty steps on the stairs. Just moments after that, John's body was standing in the doorway.

"Are you all right?" he asked, as he took two big steps to reach me.

"Fine, nightmare."

He crouched, put his hand on my forehead and he frowned. "You're far from 'fine'."

"Sherlock, glass of water?" John asked in a raised voice.

"Busy, John; experiment," we heard Sherlock explain.

John let out an irritated sigh and flushed the toilet. He gave me a reassuring smile as he stood up. He left the bathroom and came back some minutes later with what appeared to be an aspirin and a glass of water.

"Here, drink up."

I retracted my knees, so that they would almost be on eye-level, as I accepted the glass of water and aspirin. I lay the aspirin on my tongue and drank the water. I pulled a face; the aspirin left a nasty aftertaste.

"Not good?" I shook my head in response. "Let me take your temperature," he put his hand in his pocket to get a thermometer. I opened my mouth and he gently lay said thermometer in my mouth. I closed my mouth and studied his face for a minute.

_Doctor John H. Watson._

It fitted him so well! I never saw him as a doctor-type. Of course, he was caring and kind, but before I couldn't imagine him curing people. Perhaps it was because he wasn't the hospital-kind-of-doctor; he was an army doctor. Treating people in the field; gun wounds and other gore.

It was as if he switched from 'John-the-flatmate' into 'John the Army Doctor'.

"Kate!"

I snapped my eyes open, not even realizing they were closed.

"Welcome back to earth," John greeted me. "You're 102.56 Fahrenheit, so you're going straight to bed, the sofa would not do."

With help from John's supporting arm I managed to get up. When we managed to get out of the bathroom - well, I limped; my muscles were getting sore - John left my side and went into the kitchen. I limped towards the kitchen doorway to see Sherlock looking into a microscope. There were jars with something in them next to him, but I tried not to look; there was a high chance I would vomit again.

I looked at the clock on the microwave, it said '4:12 AM'. Suddenly, my eyelids seemed to be heavier after knowing the time.

"Kate is borrowing your bed," John said casually as he searched for something in the lower cabinets of the kitchen.

Sherlock mumbled something but stopped instantaneously. His head snapped upwards with a confused look on his face. "Pardon?"

"Sherlock, the sofa doesn't provide as much comfort as the bed. And since you are not sleeping in it, she can borrow it." John's eyes were radiating triumph when he found a bucket somewhere in a cabinet.

Sherlock wanted to protest, but was stopped by John.

"Sherlock," he warned.

"Fine, but don't touch anything," Sherlock said as he met my gaze. He said it like he was a teacher that taught the students the number one rule that you shouldn't do.

"Promise." I was surprised by what I had heard; my voice was rough and made a high pitch at the end. My throat didn't seem to be sore, despite vomiting earlier in the morning.

* * *

"Mummy, I don't feel well," I said, as I put my hand on my belly and made it into a fist, taking my shirt in it.

"I know sweetie," Mummy said as she crouched to face me. "I only have to visit one store, then we will go home. Do you think you can hold on that long?"

I nodded in response.

"Do you fancy gummy-bears afterwards?"

I nodded harder and smiled. Gummy-bears were mine and Daddy's favorite..

"She has to come with me now!" I heard, and suddenly Daddy was standing next to me. He said it in a whiny voice, which I found weird. Dad had a deep voice, now it sounded a little bit childish. It reminded me of my friend Kyle, who was whining all the time. He was always teased by the other children because of that.

"Can't it wait? She's sick," I heard Mummy say.

"No, it can't!"

"Why? She has to rest," Suddenly I'm lying in my princess bed. I heard footsteps walking towards my door. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock? That can't be right.

I snapped my eyes open to find Sherlock standing in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob and a smile on his face.

"Good, you're awake."

I closed my eyes against the sudden light _and_ because Sherlock obviously had to speak at such a high volume.

"Please, don't speak that loudly. I have a major headache," I clarified, practically hearing Sherlock frown. It hurt to speak, but I'd rather speak than having sudden attacks permeat for my brain. Of course, it would be hard to go through the day without people talking.

My head wasn't the only thing that hurt. Unlike having a sore throat a couple of hours ago - I presumed; it was day considering the amount of light. The light that was so bright that it attacked my brain just moments ago.

"Kate, I've some Ibuprofen for you. It'll help to lower your fever more," I heard John say. "But you have to eat first."

I groaned and pulled the quilt over my head. Some pain medication would be nice, but I had absolutely no desire to eat. I had the feeling my stomach wouldn't allow any digestion.

"God help me, she's turning into you,"

I chuckled despite the sore feeling in my throat; I'd like that. Of course, not the sociopathic - _highly functioning_, I heard Sherlock's voice say in my mind - and arrogant part of him. No, that'd be horrible. I'd like to have his curiosity and intelligence.

"Would that be that horrific, John?"

"What d'you think? I can't even deal with you half the time, how would I deal with two of you?"

Meanwhile I had shoved off the quilt and opened my eyes; my headache attacking again despite opening them slowly. Sherlock was still standing in the doorway and John was standing by Sherlock's bed, head turned to speak to the detective. I saw a glass of water in John's hand and took it. John gave me the Ibuprofen in his other hand when he felt the removal of the glass.

Once I swallowed the Ibuprofen with the assistance of the water, I jumped to my feet. I immediately decided that was a bad idea; my muscles were more painful than this morning and my brains seemed to bounce in my head because of the movement.

"You okay?" John asked.

I nodded, not wanting to speak again.

* * *

I stepped out of the shower, quite happily I must say. My headache seemed to have disappeared, and so did the soreness in the muscles. The pain in the throat remained, but I couldn't be happier with the effectiveness of the Ibuprofen.

I dried myself with a towel, put on my clothes and combed my freshly washed and still-wet hair.

Sherlock wasn't happy with my decision to shower. He acted like an impatient little child. I didn't expect anything else from Sherlock, obviously. But there was no way I would go outside in pyjamas with a sweaty body and sweaty hair.

I left the bathroom and found Sherlock waiting for me in his coat.

"Let's go then," he said as he opened the door.

"Hold on," I grabbed my coat and started to put it on. "Where exactly are we going?"

"You've been there before," Apparently he thought that was considered to be a reasonable answer, since he was already halfway down the stairs.

"And that would be?"

"The Diogenes Club."


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks Toni Stark for your review! I'm glad you like my story. I would've PM'd you, but you disabled that option. Happy about your feedback, though!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I was sitting in the Diogenes Club for the second time in two weeks on the same chair I sat last time. My feet were on the chair despite Mycroft's protests; I had threatened to vomit on the floor if I couldn't do what I wanted. Sherlock had smirked. Mycroft's face had been priceless.

The Club was such a strict place I wasn't even sure if I could manage a third time next week. You couldn't even talk out loud, for God's sake! Only in this God forsaken room; really not one of the old people in the damned Club wanted to sit here.

Okay... I admit I'm a _bit_ grumpy; my Ibuprofen is wearing off and if it wasn't for this calming tea I am holding in my hands, I was sure I wouldn't even make it to the bathroom. If I even knew where the bathroom was in here...

John was standing behind me with his hands leaning on the back of my chair. Sherlock was standing, glaring daggers at the always-so-calm elder brother who was sitting on the chair beside me, just as the last time. And to be honest, I was also a bit pissed off at Mycroft.

The man was hiding things from us, from _me, _about _my_ bloody Mum. I don't know what it is yet, but Sherlock probably does. And if he was cross about the case, I felt I had a right to feel cross too.

"Sherlock, can you let us know what's going on, too?" John broke the silence.

"Hmm?" Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts. "Oh, yes, of course." He walked over to me. "Can I borrow your phone?"

"My... _phone_?" I asked confused. This was hardly the time to text.

"Yes, your phone. Give it to me."

"Okay..." I said unsure as I held my cuppa in front of me, Sherlock stared at it, not taking the hint. I sighed and put it on the table next to me. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and gave it to Sherlock. I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so now you get it?"

"I highly recommend a password on your phone, Kate," Sherlock ignored my challenge and pushed some buttons on my phone. "There," he showed my phone to Mycroft. Mycroft looked unimpressed.

"I'm offended, dear brother," Mycroft said, "that you assume that I haven't intercepted those text messages?"

I sighed of irritation and grabbed my tea and sipped it, to make sure I wasn't going to confront Mycroft about invading my privacy. I should've known, of course, it was typical Mycroft. Just like Sherlock, he had no respect or other sort of awareness for privacy.

"Sherlock, what is it?" John said before Sherlock could snap at his brother.

"What can you deduce from this?" Sherlock stretched his arm with my phone in his hand, stubbornly standing on the same spot so John had to come to him. As John reached Sherlock, he took my mobile from him and looked at it.

"Can I see what's going on too?" A pause before I added, "you know, it's _my _phone."

John continued to go through the messages while Sherlock paced around the room.

"Three messages, all at the same time. If the senders are different people you could call it coincidence, but from the same person, three days in a row? No, that is on purpose. So, what can we tell from that then? The contents of the messages are unremarkable, except for one text message; the one which said 'For the last time I'll ask you this: do you really do not want or of some sorts?'. The sequence is a bit particular, it could be a hidden message. My suspicion was confirmed as we look at the first three letters of the messages. In order, it says 'S', 'F' and 'H'. Where does that stand for? Search, For, Help." Sherlock pauses, probably to let me absorb all the data. He continued, "What can we tell from the time then? We know the time is 13:08 when they were received, even though your mobile is set to AM and PM now. 13:08. What can it tell us? What does it mean? You can translate it; it's a code. Each letter stands for a number. A is one, B is two and so on. 13:08 means MH." Sherlock took small dangerous steps, in the direction of Mycroft. "So why won't you tell my why she asked for your help?!"

Sherlock shouted the last bit. Mycroft just stared back. I appreciated the silence because I had to process the information. John was standing behind me now, hands protectively on my shoulders. I calmed myself at once as I noticed that my breathing was heavy and my grip on my cup of tea tightened.

It was obvious Mycroft had answers, but that he didn't want to involve us. Sure, I understood that Sherlock and John didn't have to know everything, but it was Mum. You don't ignore someone when you know something about their missing mother.

"I don't know," Mycroft said after a long pause. "Well, this was all very interesting but I have more important matters to attend to. I recommend that you do not interfere any further. The case is under my supervision and I'll enlighten you if I have information about the case."

"Hogwash," I blurted out. It was not everything what I wanted to say. I wanted to scream that Mycroft was a coward. Mycroft's head snapped towards me, eyeing me. Again, I felt utterly exposed when he looked at me. I did not break eye contact as John felt my forehead. The doctor sighed.

"I hate to break it to you, but Katy has go home now. Her temperature is rising."

"I understand," Mycroft stood up. "I wish you well, Katy."

I felt my anger boiling up, again. _Yeah right, you pretend to care about me? Why won't you give me information about my Mum, then?_

I placed the now empty cup of tea on the table, resisting the temptation to break the cup. John helped me to stand up and supported me with his arm. I was unsure if he did that because he was afraid I would attack Mycroft or that I'd fall over.

* * *

By the time we reached the flat, a headache had settled in my skull and there was a nauseous feeling in my throat alongside a sore one. My eyelids were heavy but I did not want to sleep; I was restless. The fact that Sherlock was questioning me didn't make me feel better, just like the Ibuprofen I've swallowed thirty minutes ago.

"Do you recognize the location in the photograph you've received from your mother?" he asked.

"No... wait... yeah, a bit," I babbled as I tried to remember. "Hold on, how do you know about that present?"

"Don't act daft, Katy, I know you're better than that. Yes or no?" he demanded, trying to suppress his irritation.

I'm sorry? Did Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, give me a compliment? I wanted to tease him about that, but I realized I hadn't had enough energy for it, even if I was sitting here on the sofa with a blanket around me and a cuppa. I hardly had enough to answer his questions.

"Yes," I answered, confidently. "Now answer _my_ question."

"Which one?" he asked as he put on his innocent-face.

"God, you're so annoying!" I said exasperated, regretting talking so loud and taking a sip of my second cuppa that day because of my sore throat. I sought help. "John!"

"Don't you dare; leave me out of it," he said loudly from the kitchen, I winced as his voice gave me an extra shot of pain through my head in the process. Once he walked into the front room and sat in his chair with a cuppa, I could see something similar to an amused smile on his face, however, it was so small that I had to check it twice.

"Did you look into my bag again? What's in there that keeps attracting your attention?" I asked Sherlock, who was sitting in his favorite chair and typing now suspiciously fast on his laptop.

He ignored me and I decided I would stare at him until he answered.

"Did you know that staring at people is rude?" he said in a matter-of-fact tone, after a very long silence.

"Answer me."

"I saw a framed photograph laying in your bag in plain sight, I found it suspicious-looking so I examined it," he stopped typing.

"So, yes, you did. How did you know it was from my mother?"

"Who else would give you a photograph of you and your parents? Your father couldn't give it to you, since he died."

I felt a shot of pain flowing through my heart as he said that.

"Sherlock!" John warned.

"Why did you think the picture was suspicious-looking?" I asked as I recovered and took a sip of my tea.

"The photo was trimmed."

"So?" He stopped typing and let out a sigh in response to my question.

"It was deliberate. If the photograph didn't fit in the frame, then you cut it off on both sides to keep as much as possible from the original picture. The cut-off part was rather large, too; there's a gap between the frame and the photograph. Someone who's clever enough to give her daughter a secret message can cut a photo neatly. So the question is, what's on the other half of the picture that your mother didn't want you to see?"

All that information. All that data. All that logic in one photograph, from one look.

"Damn," was all I could manage to say. Sherlock smirked as he turned to his laptop again.

Just as I finished my cup of tea, Sherlock stood up, placed his laptop on the chair and put on his coat.

"Where are you going?" John asked confusedly.

"Train station," he answered. "Don't stare at me, put on your coats! We have a train to catch."

"_What_ train? And why, for God's sake?"

"London to Ledbury, 13:45. If we hurry, we can make it."

"No, absolutely not," John said. Sherlock turned around with a confused look on his face.

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"Katy's sick, she needs rest. One trip to see Mycroft is enough for a lifetime for a teenager, let alone someone who has a fever!"

"But-"

"No, Sherlock, perhaps tomorrow. And only if she's up to it." This was clearly the end of the discussion for John.

Sherlock took of his coat and looked like a disappointed child, I of course had to laugh at that. I stood up, deciding that I wanted to sleep.

"I'm going to bed, if that's okay." Sherlock ignored me, so I walked to his bedroom and changed in to my pyjama's.

Once laying under the quilt, I let out a content sigh. There is progress in case of finding my Mum, and I allowed myself to hope that maybe I might see Mum again. Of course, I didn't get my hopes up too high, since I knew from experience that life isn't always positive. But tomorrow, I would be going to Ledbury, back home.

* * *

**Tell me what you think or give me some theory about what happened to Katy's Mum; either way, feedback is much appreciated!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sooooo... someone asked me if I wanted to do a sequel after this. I loved the idea, since I absolutely adore writing Katy's story and I already have a few ideas for the sequel... Please, tell me what you think about a sequel (review or PM me, I don't mind), I'd like to know what you lot think!**

**I know were between the second and the third series - god I hate waiting! - but let's pretend that Katy's time is about three weeks/a month after the Great Game. Yes, do we all have that in mind? Awesome! I hope you'll enjoy the chapter and be sure to review (mostly to answer my question, I can't know if you all want a sequel after this or not; I'm not exactly a mind reader)!**

**Special thanks to 'Anastasia Dove' and 'jack63kids' for beta-ing this chapter! **

* * *

After another rough night of being sick, nightmares and not having the doctor and the detective to take care of me - not that I'd expected Sherlock to take care of me, but still, presence would've been nice - because they'd been called up for a crime scene. When they got back and I was awake too, I convinced John that I'd go to Ledbury. Of course, I had freshen myself up, swallowed an Ibuprofen and a cracker - John wouldn't let me go with them without something in my stomach. I could hardly swallow it, so I was glad when I managed to keep it down.

Also, I decided to text Aunt Patty that I'd go to Ledbury that day. I thought it was fair to contact her; she already was so alone, now especially with her sister missing and her niece in London without knowing exactly where she was.

So here I was sitting in the train with John beside me and Sherlock in front of John with my mobile in my hands. While John was looking out of the window, Sherlock observed the other passengers. The trip was about three hours long, and I didn't want to get bored. The only possibility was to do something I hadn't the time to yet; read John's blog.

With a heavy heart I ignored the first few entries since they showed how John was before he met Sherlock. _'Nothing happens to me'_. I had swallowed when I read that. I scrolled further and found a blog entry about when they first met. St. Barts. Not that the location surprised me at all; you wouldn't find Sherlock in something as ordinary as a bakery. Also, John called Sherlock a 'madman'. I smiled as I realized not even John was immune to Sherlock.

_'And then we went to this great Chinese restaurant where my fortune cookie said 'There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before. ' After the night I'd had, I beg to differ.'_

Wait, _what_?

Sherlock hardly seemed the dating-type.

"You went to a Chinese restaurant?" I grinned like a fool. "Together?"

I knew they weren't a couple, but come on, this was a bit suspicious.

Sherlock groaned. I made my smile bigger. John was looking at my phone and realized what I was up to with it.

"Not this again..." he sighed and rubbed his eyes with his palms.

"How sweet," I teased and continued reading.

After opening and reading the first paragraph of 'A Study in Pink' a sentence grabbed my attention.

"'_What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things._'" I read aloud to John. "That's so kind of you, John, to post that on the world wide web like that."

"He meant it in a nice way," Sherlock stated, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows.

"You two are impossible," John shook his head in disapproval.

"Oh, and you," I said to get Sherlock's attention. "Did you really not know that the earth goes round the sun?"

"It's not important," Sherlock grunted. "I deleted it."

"Deleted it?"

"Katy, don't repeat. You're taking on John's habits," Sherlock said.

"How do you mean you deleted it?" I said, ignoring his last comment.

"I can delete information when I find it unnecessary," he stated formally.

"When is it unnecessary? I think you'll need the information at least sometime in your life."

"When I know it wouldn't be essential for a case."

"Right..." I stopped myself before I added something like_ '... it's so human of you to have the capability to do something like that.'_

The three of us did our own thing again after that.

I must confess; John wasn't exactly a good writer, but his stories still amazed and impressed me. Sherlock found a killer based on something that wasn't there; a pink suitcase. It matched perfectly of course. How the hell would someone come with up with the idea 'Hey, guys, I found the perfect way to kill someone! The victim can choose between two pills, one is deadly and the other is not! Let's kill some people!'? God, people could be so sick. _Outliving people._ That's what the murderer thought he was doing.

"John, really, you're making it too easy for me!" I laughed. I showed him my mobile, pointing at the sentence which said _'Well, me and my flatmate went for a Chinese. Like I say, he really does know some great restaurants.'_ after he gave me a curious look.

"Hey! If you don't stop commenting on my blog at once, I'll take your phone," John tried to say sternly but he failed; he had a hint of smile in his voice.

"I'll scream if you do that," I joked.

Some time went by like that; me reading John's blog and commenting on (criticizing) it, John giving me proper answers and Sherlock ignoring me. I wanted to read 'The Great Game', which made me curious already just by reading the title, but I decided to pause the browsing on my phone for a bit. The speed of the train made me nauseous and I obviously didn't want to throw up among a crowd of passengers, obviously.

"I'm bored," Sherlock said, apparently feeling the need to share the feeling with the whole train. "John! Are you listening to me?"

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Find me something to do."

"Sherlock... I don't know, deduce something about the other passengers."

"I already did that." Sherlock's pout made me smile.

I smirked in response to the annoyance in John's face. Really, Sherlock could be such a child sometimes; he always needs attention. I decided to help John. "Why don't you tell us about them?" John gave me a certain look, I couldn't figure out if he was happy about my request or not.

"Fine," Sherlock shifted in his seat to face the people more. "The woman next to us doesn't approve of your absence from school; when she first noticed us, she looked at her watch and frowned. After that, she frequently frowned at us. She is visiting her daughter who has recently had a baby recently. This can be told from the photograph in her purse, which was visible when she took out her train ticket. The fiancée of the man behind us cheated on him so they broke up just today. He is pl-"

"Sherlock, stop." John warned when we heard the man behind him weeping. "Not good."

Sherlock, to my surprise, stopped talking after a moment. He took out his phone and concentrated fully on his device. I realized there wouldn't be much talking from either of us, so I decided to close my eyes and prepare myself to face my past. To be honest, the town was my past and it has been very eventful. Because honestly, the town was my past and so much happened in it.

* * *

I sighed, watching the air coming out of my mouth and then disappearing again.

John, Sherlock and I were standing in front of my home. Well, I don't know if you can still call it home; Mum and Dad weren't there anymore, and neither was I. I grabbed my keys out of my jacket, which I grabbed out of my bag in 221B, I was proud of myself that I could keep something unused for so long and not lose it. I was freezing so I quickly closed the distance between myself and the door and opened it.

I was kind of relieved at seeing my house again. It was exactly in the state it had been when I left it. Of course, there was a layer of dust lying on the furniture but that was it.

"Help yourself," I said to Sherlock and John who were standing in the hallway, after I closed the door. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"No, apparently not," John said apologetically when we saw Sherlock was halfway across the stairs already. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I said with a smile, trying to reassure him, hoping that he meant how I was feeling and not the feelings about being inLedbury.

After a moment of gazing at me, he also went upstairs. I let out a sigh for the second time in ten minutes. I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed myself a drink. My chest felt heavy when I saw the open Coca-Cola bottle in the fridge. I quickly drank my lemonade and left the kitchen, I did not bother to put the bottle in the fridge again. I was standing in the living-room, trying to decide what I wanted to do next when Sherlock made that decision for me.

"Katy!" I heard from upstairs and quickly answered with a 'coming' as I took big strides to get to the source of the call.

"What is it?" I asked when I entered Mum's room.

"Do you recognize this man?" Sherlock asked and held something in front of him. I realized it was the cut-off part from the photograph Mum gave me and took it to study it closely.

On the second part of the photograph, there was a black man sitting on the beach on a towel. However, he was sitting with his back towards the sea and watching us intently. He had several tattoos on his upper arm, his head was shaved and had a scar on his belly. There was something familiar about the man but I couldn't put his face to a name.

The first moment I saw the man, questions began filling my head. _Who was this man? Why didn't Mum want me to see me this part of the picture? And why do find him familiar?_


	12. Chapter 12

**Beta-d by the wonderful 'jack63kids', who's sick but still manages to beta my chapters. All mistakes are mine. The next chapter is already written, only needs some beta-ing so it'll be up tonight or tomorrow! It'd be lovely to get some reviews, *hint*. And also, I've seen The Hobbit just hours ago! IT'S SO AWESOME! I _highly_ recommend watching the film, Martin Freeman plays utterly amazing in it and of course, others like Ian McKellen are wonderful either. Although be warned: you'll be mad after the film; the ending is completely maddening! Afterwards I felt like crying and screaming because we have to wait a year for the next part. Well, I can go on and on about the Hobbit but you're here to read a story, so here you go! Enjoy!**

* * *

"Do you recognize this man?" Sherlock asked.

"Vaguely," I answered. "How did you know this was in Mum's room anyway?"

"A parent is likely to hide his or her present in their bedroom, for the child not to find it. Your mother thought it was more clever to work on her present here, since the chance for you to find the gift would be less. If she threw this part of the photo in the bin downstairs, you would be more likely to discover what the present might be. So, she chose to throw the cut-off in her own bin," Sherlock explained after giving me an 'Are you stupid?' look.

"Wow," I muttered as I heard a car honk outside. It was so logical, but I knew I couldn't figure out where the cut-off part of the photograph might've been. And now, here it is, in my hands.

I handed the second part of the photograph to Sherlock and practically ran downstairs to open the door. As soon as I did that, I saw someone stepping out of a car.

"Auntie!" I yelled, running towards her to give her a hug.

"Sweetheart," she said softly and tightened our hug. I could hear her mutter, "don't ever leave me like that again," but I pretended to not hear her. "Honey, why are there two strange men in your home?"

"Oh, right," I turned around and unwrapped myself from the hug. "This is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," I gestured to each of them as I said their name. "This is my aunt Patty."

While I introduced them they shook hands, and I noticed Sherlock glancing at my aunt. Of course, everyone glances at everyone but this is Sherlock. I wanted my aunt to like him, so that she won't get a hold of me and force me to stay here in dull Ledbury or Cardiff. This meeting could be the most important thing in my life, I realized, because if I can't get back to London with John and Sherlock, I'd lose my best chance of finding Mum. I shot Sherlock a warning glare as we locked eyes. _As if that will stop_ _him_, I thought.

"Don't mind me asking, but how do you know my niece?" Patty asked in a somewhat cold manner I never heard before. Taken by surprise, I couldn't answer her before Sherlock or John did.

"I am investigating the case of your missing sister," Sherlock answered and I sighed in relief that he hadn't said anything that would insult Auntie.

"Are you from the police?" she asked bewildered. Sherlock gave a fake smile, even I could tell that. "And how do you know that she's my sister?" A smile once more.

"I'm hungry," I interrupted loudly. "Auntie, let's go eat in town."

"Not at Barry's?" she asked. I swallowed in response; I did _not_ want to go back to that place ever again. I wondered how could she suggest something like that, she was there for God's sake. Does the disappearance of her sister mean nothing to her?

"Nah, don't feel like it."

* * *

"Honey, you look dreadful, are you alright?" Auntie said, breaking the silence, after ordering our drinks and getting our menus. I did not know if I was happy with the broken silence; I didn't want to talk about Sherlock, John, Mum, me or my actions, however I hated the silence since we always talked like best friends who hadn't seen each other in three years.

"I feel fine," I gave her a reassuring smile - at least I hope it was one, and continued to look at my menu. I wasn't really hungry to be honest, but it was the fastest excuse I could make up to separate Sherlock and Auntie. I couldn't risk the possibility of my aunt trying to stop me going with them, because I would go anyway. I definitely would. They are my only chance to ever see Mum again. "I think I'll have the grilled cheese."

"Katy, be honest with me, you're skinny and pale. You're hair isn't as shiny as it used to be and you have dark rings under your eyes. Plus, you blink your eyes twice when you lie. Tell me what's going on," she took my hand in hers.

"I'm a bit sick the last few days," I confessed, knowing that she won't let it go if I lied again. I pulled my hand back. "But other than that I'm fine."

Silence fell. I looked at the time on my mobile. _1:54 AM. _66 minutes to go until I'll be back at the house I called home a few weeks ago. 66 Minutes with Auntie. Wait, no, that's not true. About four of those minutes would be in the car ride home. So, that's 62 minutes to go. I sighed._  
_

"How did he know that I'm your mum's sister?"

"He probably deduced it of our clothes or something like that," I answered, trying to hide the smirk on my face. "Perhaps the fact that I yelled 'Auntie' when I opened the door gave something away too."

The waiter interrupted as he gave us our drinks. We ordered our food; I took the grilled cheese and Auntie, surprisingly, a salad. Apparently, she was on a diet.

"Deduced?"

"Sherlock's a consulting detective, he deduces things about people. Okay, that's not very accurate; it's very difficult to explain," I thought for a moment and decided to use something I read on John's blog, the Great Game. "For example, pollen on trainers can tell you where the person who wore them had walked, in Sussex for instance. The police hire him sometime, and John is just a sidekick, I guess."

She seemed to take it all in. After some moments, she asked, "and you hired him?"

"Yes. No. Well, we haven't talked about the price yet, so I guess that means a negative."

"Honey, we have the police on the case, we can't do much more."

"Sherlock is our best chance to see Mum again."

"Katy, he isn't the police."

"He is better-" I stopped myself from talking further, before I lost my temper completely. I took a few inhales and exhales to calm myself and spoke again. "He is better than the police, I saw him myself."

"Okay," she agreed, but I knew she didn't believed me. She opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted by our waiter who placed our food in front of us. He wrote down our orders, and then walked away. Auntie continued, "Where do you sleep in London?"

Oh, god. I was certain she would hold me and lock me up on the spot when I will tell her I slept in a strange man's bed in a flat owned by two men.

"In the apartment of a sweet old lady," I lied. Well, technically it wasn't a lie since Mrs. Hudson is the flat-owner.

"Honey, stop lying. Blinking thingy, remember?"

"On the sofa in Sherlock's and John's flat," I said softly. Unfortunately, Auntie Patty ate a tomato as I said that and choked on it. "You alright?" I asked when she stopped. She took a sip from her water and nodded.

"I do not want you going back to London again."

_And there it is._

"I have to go sometime, my bag is in their flat," I tried, it did not work.

"Then I'll get it! You're not going back there, I know that for sure. Katy, I do not trust them," she said the last statement in a calm and careful tone. She better be careful if she said something like that.

"Well, then you're in bad luck because _I _do!"_ Goodbye temper_. "Patty, he's a genius! He solved many impossible crimes, and compared to that this case is boring to him! We're - _I_ am in luck that he is willing to help me!" At this point I didn't care about the people who were sitting in the cafe.

"Shh, honey, you lost your temper again, try to breath slowly," she tried to calm me. "Count to ten, then you'll be calm and we can talk again.

"We're long past the point I'm going to be calm!" I stood up and put on my coat which was hanging on the back of my chair. I managed to say an irritated goodbye and exited the cafe. I tightened the coat around me as I felt the cold. I turned to my right to Ledbury Park. I had a strong memory of Mum, Dad and myself on said location.

We were sitting on a thin, red and white checkered blanket with a picnic basket in the middle. I smiled as I remembered the cliché. It was a sunny day, but the wind was strong too. Dad showed me how to control a kite for the first time. I thought I could handle it, but was proved otherwise. Just moments after I held the kite on my own, I couldn't control it anymore and it flew away. Dad couldn't run after it, since it was already high up into the sky.

_"Daddy, is my kite gone now?" I asked and was on the edge of crying. _

_"Unfortunately, yes," he pulled me on his lap in for a hug. "But we can buy another one, sweetheart."_

_"But I don't want it to be gone!" Tears were streaming over my cheeks. _

_"Not everything we want can be fulfilled," Mummy said. "Sometimes we don't want something to be gone either, but as I said, you can't always have what you want, honey."_

_"Now, don't cry, if you really want another kite we can buy one," Daddy wiped my tears away. "Do you want gummy-bears?"_

_"Yes!" I smiled again. _

_"I want some too, I think!" Daddy gave me some of the sweets and put a couple in his own hand._

I was standing on the same spot as I sat then. I smiled again. So many memories in one place, Ledbury. It was always my home, with Mum and Dad. But now, Dad is gone and maybe Mum too. Would I still consider this my home when both of them are gone?

"Get back to smiling again, _darling,_ if you want to live," I heard an American voice whisper in my ear as I felt some pressure in my lower back. I did not know for certain what it was, but dear god_,_ I hoped it wasn't a gun. "Good, don't let that smile falter. You're going to turn around and walk over to the black car. One step not directed towards the car results in a hole through your colon. Do you understand?" Oh goody, it _was_ a gun. I felt my heart almost pounding through my chest. I nodded and followed his instructions. He did not stand back, he practically was glued to the right side of my back. Once we reached the car, he pushed me with his gun as he opened the back door of the car. "Sit," I obliged and saw that there was a black man sitting on the other side of the car too, so I was sandwiched between two Afro-American men. Man number one closed the door as he sat down. Man number two put a blindfold around my head. I did not dare to move, not even a muscle. "Go," I heard and I felt the car moving.

I didn't know where we were going, but one thing I knew for certain; I did not want to sit in this car.

_Not everything we want can be fulfilled._


	13. Chapter 13

**Again, thanks to the wonderful 'jack63kids' to beta this chapter. All mistakes are mine. **

**I've also come to the realization that I love to write angst. I just can't seem to stop writing it. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Scared.

I was so, so scared.

Never in my life did I think that I'd be abducted. Never. Because, why? Why would I? I'm just an ordinary teenage girl, whose mother happens to be missing. Okay, perhaps I'm not a typical teenager, but there is certainly no reason why I should be abducted. I'm no governor's daughter, the kid of a prime minister, nor have I important information. Those were the people who it mostly happened to, right?

The only thing I could feel during the car ride was my heart - which was pounding rapidly - and sweaty hands. My mind was blank; I couldn't think and act properly. My instincts told me I had to scream, yell, fight and run. Especially to run away. However, I knew I would most likely be killed if I did that.

God, how I wished that I hadn't seen so many crime series and movies. But though I had, I hadn't had a clue what they'd do to me. I wondered throughout the ride what was worse; the knowing or not knowing.

The ride was fairly short and quiet. The only word I heard in the car when I stepped into the vehicle and again at the end of the journey, was one word 'go!', spoken in an offensive tone.

"We're here, sweetie," I felt the breath of the man at my left near my ear, which sent a shiver through my spine. I heard the doors of the car opening and felt the cool wind. I wanted to move, but my legs felt numb and I didn't know where to go; I didn't even know where we were. "If you'll do anything that will not please us in even the slightest way, I can promise you, _darling_, you will be sorry about what you did." I wanted to open my mouth and say something, but somehow I couldn't. I just nodded. "Good," I heard. The voice was farther away now, fortunately.

I felt a hand grabbing my coat and thrusting me to my left, outside. I bumped my head in the process and that made me aware of the heavy headache I had. I realized how weak I was, at this ill-fated moment. Of course _I _had to feel unwell when I'd just been abducted.

At the very moment I was standing straight I heard the car-doors slamming shut and I was pushed forwards, frequently stumbling over what were presumably small rocks.

"Stop!" a different voice commanded. I obeyed and thought I heard two men whispering in a harsh tone. After a minute or two, the whispering stopped and I was being pushed again. Suddenly, the wind stopped. Yes, it was still cold but the wind had stopped. I only realized I was inside a building after I heard my footsteps. "Walk faster," the voice said. I obeyed once again and felt that I was being pushed towards my right, then left, and all of a sudden I stumbled forwards. I hadn't had the time to grab onto something so I fell. My cheekbone crashed into something angular. I was dazed for a few minutes, and meanwhile I was standing up again and walking downwards; I was walking down the stairs, apparently.

_A warning would've been nice_, I wanted to say, but didn't.

My headache grew worse and I tasted blood in my mouth once I was at the bottom of the stairs.

We went left, right and immediately right again. Two hands were placed on my shoulders, one on each shoulder, and they thrust me down to the ground. Mid-way through the fall I managed to turn around so I would land on my bottom, and not my face again. The blindfold was removed and I saw the Afro-American man who I recognized as the man sitting on my right in the car.

"Ain't you a pretty one," I saw a couple of black teeth in his mouth when the man grinned. I flinched and saw a somewhat disappointed look on his face. "Don't you -"

"Leave her," I heard an American voice interrupt and I didn't know if I was supposed to be happy with my rescuer; he probably wanted to hurt me too, only not at this moment. Without thinking about my action, I turned my head so I could see whose face the voice belonged to. Behind me stood a black man dressed in a black tuxedo with a white tie and white shirt. "I said you weren't allowed to hit her." His voice was full of authority.

"We didn't hit her."

"How will you explain that?"

"She fell off the stairs," he said, smiling at the recall of the earlier event.

"What a shame," the boss said mockingly.

"Then don't blindfold me," I snapped, suddenly being able to use my voice again.

"It's a miracle; she _can_ talk!" I gritted my teeth at the comment someone made in the corner of the room; I recognized the voice as the man who had abducted me.

"Keith," the boss warned. "Leave us," he said and the two men obeyed his command. I stood up; not wanting to be alone with him while I was sitting. I thought it made me look more vulnerable, how ridiculous that may sound. I swallowed in anticipation, wondering what might come next. "Haven't seen you in a long time," I raised my eyebrows; this was not what I was waiting for. I expected to be called names, beaten and not to take part in small talk. "You have grown." He sounded almost proud.

"You know me?"

"Of course, you don't remember me?" he glanced at me, searching for a reaction. "That's disappoints me highly, Katy."

"Katy?" I repeated. "Am I supposed to know you?"

"I thought that would be obvious," he said in a offended tone. "Take a look at me, a real good look. Don't you remember me?" he offered as he took a step backwards and spread his arms as if he wanted to hug me.

I looked at his face for a moment, and then my eyes roamed over his body. I recognized nothing, so my eyes went back to his face again, now observing. He seemed quite familiar, to be honest. I began to doubt if I hadn't seen him once in my life. Then, realization struck.

Oh, God.

Oh, no. Hell, no. This... _God_.

He smirked. "So you _do_ know me?"

"You got a promotion?" I said quietly after I took a few deep breaths, knowing that if I lost my temper I'd most likely to get hurt. "How nice."

"I hadn't expected you'd be that quick, but yes, I have." His smirk got bigger. "You want to know why?" _No! No, I don't want to know! _I had a strong feeling where this was going. All the pieces were falling together, they fit like a puzzle. "I know it's difficult, but it was necessary what I did."

Rage was filling up inside me. "It was _necessary_?" I yelled, but at the last word my voice broke. I forgot that he could kill me in just a second. "It was necessary to stalk us, even to America? It was necessary to come at my Dad's _funeral_? After you killed him? Is that how you got that promotion?" I kicked myself mentally for the lack of a stable voice. I expected my eyes to become wet soon, but they didn't, surprisingly.

"You impress me, my love," he said with a matching expression on his face. "You are just as intelligent as your mother and father."

"How?" I asked in a raspy, quiet voice. "So you did kill him." It wasn't a question.

"It was funny really," he looked up as he recalled the memory, he smiled a little. "Basically I threatened your mother's and your life, he begged me to not kill them and he promised he'd give me anything I wanted, so I took his life, rather beautifully. A clean head shot. Oh, don't look so stunned, how did you expect me to kill him? With flowers, happiness and laughter?"

"You utter bastard!" I screamed and ran towards him, not managing to keep myself under control. As soon as the man saw I was going to run, he grabbed something out of his breast-pocket, inside his jacket. I came to a halt when I saw it was a gun, pointing at me.

I was sure my heart stopped beating for a few seconds.

I had never seen a gun before, and certainly not pointing at me. I noticed my arms were beside me, hands up. I couldn't stop staring at the black hole in the gun. It was small but deadly. I knew I wasn't going to react fast enough when I saw the bullet coming, if I would see the bullet coming at all, but yet I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away.

"Scared, are you? That's a shame. And don't lie to me; it's practically written all over your face. I'm not sure if your parents raised you well enough, I'm afraid."

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths as he said those words. I couldn't afford to get angry again. _One shot, and you could be dead, Katherine. You have to calm down. Listen to me. Sherlock and John will be here soon, I'm sure of it. They will get you out of here. You just have to wait a little longer._

I heard a click. **  
**

_Oh god._ _He's actually going to do it. He's going to kill me. But... he can't. I haven't seen Mum yet. I must see Mum. Oh god, Sherlock, John, save me. As soon as possible. No, scratch that. Come now, please. _Please. _For God's sake, NOW!_

I expected a lot of pain any moment, a loud 'bang' and then I'd see light. Light that would come for me and that I'd walk into. Instead, I heard laughter. I opened my eyes and saw the man laughing, still pointing his gun at me. I didn't dare to say anything so I waited. It felt like ages.

"You don't see it, do you? You remind me so much of your father," he said after a while, recovering from his laughter. "I am holding your life in my hands," he explained and put his gun back in his breastpocket. "You can put your hands down now. I won't kill you, so relax, love. You're too precious. You're the only way I can get your mother back."

I made my hands into fists. His words, manners, acts, clothing, even his face made me sick. I took a few steps back, to prevent me from trying to attack him further. I knew I had to ask the question that hung in the air. "Why am I?" I asked with clenched jaws.

"You see, your mother _loves_ you," he spat the word 'loves' out, as if it disgusted him. "That's why she'd come for you. She has mercy. You see, I had no mercy for your father." I had dug my nails into my palms. "Killing your father was the best thing I have ever done."

_Stop. Just stop it. Please, don't talk about Dad anymore. I don't want to talk about him with _you,_ you filthy bastard. Please, stop talking. _

"Look what I've got: cash, drugs and women. It all happened because of your father..."

_Quit talking. Stop. Please. Look, you got me begging; I'm sitting on the ground. On the dirty, boring, grey concrete. Please, I don't know what to say. I'm asking you nicely. Just, stop. _Stop.

"... your _dead_ father..."

_Mum, please come. He said you're alive, indirectly I suppose, but he said it. He said you'll come to me. Please, Mum, help me. Get rid of this man. This _monster._ Come back to me. I'm begging you. Please, Mummy. _

"... and I will have more, because of your soon-to-be-dead-mother."

_No, please. No. NO! Mum can't die either. It wasn't supposed to happen like that. Dad's death wasn't supposed to happen. _This _isn't supposed to be happening either. I can't handle this. Not now. Not all at the same time. __Wait - why's the floor spinning? Damnit, not now!_

"You know, vomiting is not very charming," the man stated matter-of-factly.

I wanted to yell, scream and snap at him but my throat felt sour and I felt weak. I was too tired to do anything other than sit down. He said something, but I was focusing on other things; Mum, Dad, my shivering and sweating body and my hope for a rescue. The man in the fancy suit suddenly walked over to me, and I caught myself breathing harder with anxiety. Luckily, the man did not stop and walked past me, farther away from me. Once I heard a vague sound of a door closing, I dared to let out a sigh of relief. I sank to the floor and laid down in the most comfortable position I could find. I heard my breathing slowing down and later on I closed my eyes. Before I drifted off, a question came to me.

_How long will it take for me to get out of here?_

* * *

**Ooooh!**

**If you have a question or want to know something about the previous, this or the next chapter(s), you only have to PM me! You can review and I'll respond, I'll be more happy with that. :) And no, I'll not give you hints or tell you something about the plot, even if you beg me on hands and knees and kiss my shoes. Not even then.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter beta'd by, as always, the wonderful 'jack63kids', honestly, I don't know what I'd do without her. All mistakes are mine.**

* * *

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the horrible smell. I drowsily opened my eyes and was disoriented; I couldn't remember where I was. When I didn't recognize the building, I quickly - too quickly, my head protested - sat up and looked around the room. I came to my senses immediately.

It was a fairly big room but there were no windows. The walls were made from red bricks. The wallpaper was mostly torn off and where it did hang, it was covered with graffiti. Not only the wallpaper, but on the red bricks as well. There were two doors; both wooden, but one was lying on the ground. Judging by the state of the door, they had used force to bring it down. The floor was made from dull grey cement. I found the room rather boring and depressing. I soon found the source of the horrible smell. There was vomit on the floor - that explained the smell. Disgusted, I pulled the neck of my coat up to cover my nose and mouth and walked away from it.

_Had I done that?_

I tried to remember what happened yesterday - well, I didn't even know if it was yesterday; it might as well have been three hours ago. I realized where I was and what had happened bit by bit. I sighed inwardly when I recalled the events; the abduction, the fall on the stairs and the conversation.

_God, the conversation._

Suddenly, anger rose as I remembered that unpleasant talk. The mystery around the death of my father had been solved, but I wasn't happy about it. Not at all.

Who did he think he was telling me something that personal to me? I don't even know his name, for God's sake!

Yes, I know he is the creepy guy who showed up at my Dad's funeral - which, looking back at it; explained Mum's reaction - and he was also in the picture, but I did not know his name.

I felt a shiver running through my spine; who knows how many times he'd stalked my parents.

A voice somewhere in my head told me I didn't want to know; I should focus on trying to escape or at least on searching for someway out.

I gazed around the room and found I was alone. I walked over to the door that was lying on the floor. The room behind it was dark and, I admit, scary. However, I did not want to spend another minute in this hell-hole. I was prepared to do a lot if that meant I could escape.

I hoped no-one was in there, but still the strange tendency to knock on the wall and ask 'Is someone there?'. I kicked myself when I thought of something I should have thought of sooner; my mobile! I grabbed my mobile and used its light as a torch. As soon as I saw, to my horror, the used needles lying around the room, I heard the door open and I held in my breath.

"Fuck," I heard a voice curse. I heard the door close, clicking into his lock again. After that I didn't hear anything, so I dared to look past the corner of the wall. The room was empty. An idea came to my mind. I looked at my phone, unlocked it and found there was no signal.

_Damnit._

I quickly started recording on it.

_That'd be useful for Sherlock and John,_ I thought to myself, _at least if they find me._

Not knowing what else to do, I placed the phone back into my pocket, ran towards the spot where I had woken up, and quickly lay down. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. A few seconds later I heard the door open again. "Huh," was all that sounded through the room. "You tryin' to make fun of me, eh?" An angry voice said and heavy footsteps followed. Suddenly a hand grabbed my coat and tugged me upwards, forcing me to make eye-contact. I saw fury in the brown, almost black, eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed and I saw a black tooth as he spoke."What are you talking about?" I stammered. Of course I knew what he meant, but if I confessed who knew what they'd do? Would they beat or kick me, or even murder me? Perhaps Sherlock would figure that out, but I'm definitely not Sherlock.

"Y'know what I'm talking 'bout." The man tightened his grip. I realized I've not seen this man before, which made me curious; how many men were there in this building? Or didn't I want to know?

"Kordell," I recognized the voice as the one from the boss. "Did you forget I give the orders?"

"No, sir," Kordell huffed and I fell on the ground as he released me.

"And what did I say about her?"

"Do not underestimate her, sir."

"So what should you have done two minutes ago?"

"Search the whole room, sir."

"Why didn't you do that?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Because you're an idiot, Kordell," the boss said, clearly irritated. Kordell swallowed at the accusation and I stopped myself from making a little smirk; he deserved being scold. They all deserved it, maybe even more than that. "Leave," the boss commanded and Kordell obeyed.

I rolled my eyes. "A private talk, again?"

"If you prefer talking about your parents in front of my men, please say so," the boss challenged.

I prevented myself from swallowing, not wanting to give him the pleasure of seeing me uncomfortable. "What's left to say about my parents?" I was surprised my voice was steady, because I didn't want to talk about them with _him_, he who had killed my father. My anger grew, and I had to take a few deep breaths to calm down again.

"You don't want to know about your mother?" the boss asked with eyebrows raised.

How does this man, this _creep_, know more about my parents than I do? Is he more important than I am, or is the truth so disgraceful that Mum and Dad didn't want me to know it? I realized I wanted answers, and this man had them. It was the best option I had at the moment. "Why not?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Of course, darling," he started sweetly, which actually made me a bit nauseous. "Let's just say your mother had to do something, and she did something bad and ran away, so now we are trying to find her."

"Give me the details," I demanded.

"You didn't hear me earlier? I said I give the orders here," he frowned, "but since you are a special guest, I'll comply just for you. Aren't I sweet?" he asked with a hopeful smile on his face.

When he was silent for the next moments, waiting for an answer, I agreed. "Sure," I said, trying to stop myself from sighing and rolling my eyes.

"How delightful." The man looked up, dramatically recalling the events. "It all started with your father, to summarize his whole life; he killed my father and therefore I had to kill him. He was chased by the higher ranks of our gang, so when I changed his fate, I got promoted, just like you said," he said with a grin on his face. The grin suddenly vanished and he looked me straight in the eyes. "Then your mother interfered - if she wasn't already - and made our lives... difficult. To be fair, her life before the incident was not entirely easy for her either. But who was she, really?" he began speaking to himself, staring at the ground. "She wasn't important. No, she wasn't important at all," he kept telling himself.

I stayed silent for two reasons. Firstly, I didn't dare to interrupt him, he was almost... unpredictable. Or unstable. I had the feeling if I did interrupt, he'd grab his gun and shoot at me or everything else for the next hour or so. Secondly, it was a lot to process in a short time. He told me things I didn't know - well, that was not surprising, but I figured you'd know if one of your parents had killed someone. Or not. God, I don't know. And what incident he had spoken of? And why was my mother not important? I had so many questions and I wanted answers, but the only thing I got was more questions.

"And now you're being bad, too," he said suddenly, very loudly. "Who were those two men you brought in your house?"

"Friends."

"You're lying!"

Was I? I mean, they were helping me find Mum, that's why I was with them. That's why I am a guest at their apartment. That's why I talk to them. Did I saw them as friends? I pushed the thought away. Now was not the time to think about friends, I told myself. "Am I?" I said seriously, trying to keep the smirk from my mouth.

I expected him to be furious at my comment, but he grinned and turned away, heading for the door. Once he was out, I heard murmers and they suddenly stopped as Kornell came in. He, too, had a grin on his face. His eyes were still burning with rage and walked over to me with hands clenched.

Something clicked in my head. "Oh, I see," I muttered and then added louder, "he gave you orders?"

"Smart girl," he said and I swallowed. When I was within his range, he connected his fist with my cheek. I was still on the ground, so there wasn't a hard fall, but it still hurt like hell. The fist landed close to my eye and on the same cheek that had the wound from the stairs. Only a few seconds passed but I felt the wound opening up and growing hot again. I had to blink a few times to see everything normal again, and I saw Kornell standing by the door, guarding it. I wanted to ask, 'That was it?' but I didn't dare, there was a chance he would come over and punch me again.

* * *

I woke up to a loud noise. Then there was yelling. And a sound of a bullet.

_What was going on?_

Once again, it took me a few times to blink and to see everything in detail. I saw Kornell standing on the other side of the door, so that if one came in, they wouldn't notice that there was someone standing behind the door. Kornell was looking alert and, to my disapointment, strong. I hadn't noticed his biceps before, but it explained the strong punch he gave me.

I gritted my teeth out of frustration and accidentally made a small noise. Kornell wasn't looking at me, which sent a brief thrill of relief running through me. I slowly got up, deciding I had to take advantage of this distraction. I walked carefully to the dark room, pulling my phone out of my pocket and used the light to grab a weapon.

I know using an used needle isn't the most polite choice of weapons, if you can call it that way, but there was no chance for me to win if I only had my hands and legs. Plus, he kind of deserved it. Yes, I wasn't raised that way, I know what's wrong and what's right, but obviously he didn't. He seemingly thought that hitting, kidnapping and treating a girl - who was shorter and younger than him - badly was right. I simply had to use it as a weapon to defend myself.

Very carefully, I picked up a needle, held it in my hand and hid it up my sleeve. I put my phone back into my pocket. Fortunately, he didn't even seem to notice I was gone when I came back to the room again. I walked over to him stealthily, when the door opened. As soon as that happened, Kornell threw himself at the man - well, I thought it was a man - which blocked my view. I couldn't see who the man was, but he had a surprisingly familiar coat. I thought it was Sherlock, but I didn't dare to hope.

Meanwhile, the two men were wrestling on the ground, the man with the familiar coat on gained the upper hand. We locked eyes for a moment, and I cheered inwardly. Unfortunately for Sherlock, he was distracted for a moment but he was lying on the ground with Kornell on top of him, pinning him on the ground.

Confidently, I ran towards Kornell and retrieved the needle. Once Kornell was within the range, I thrust the needle into his back. The Afro-American was struck by surprise and distracted. He turned his neck to see what happened and had done this to him. This distraction was - luckily for me, because it seemed as if fury was branded in Kornell's eyes - used by Sherlock. In reaction to the punch, Kornell was practically thrown towards me.

"Hi," I greeted him airily when I thought everything was fine now. Apparently not. The man was stunned, but clearly not paralyzed; he somehow managed to get a hold of my foot and pulled me to him. "Shit!" I cursed as I fell to the ground, landing on my back. I kicked him in his face, apparently hard since I heard a cracking noise and a loud grunt that faded quickly. When I looked behind me, I saw Kornell lying on the floor, seemingly unconscious. Sherlock helped me up quickly. I stiffened when he held my head in his hands, his eyes roaming over my face; searching for damage less obvious than my wound. He was done in a flash and turned around. "Thanks," I muttered, but he didn't hear it; Sherlock was already at the door. He locked eyes with me and I took it as a sign to follow him. I nodded and obeyed his unspoken command.

As we jogged - well I jogged, Sherlock walked very quickly - I saw many doors there that I haven't seen before.

_Obviously_, I thought and rolled my eyes at my own realization.

I couldn't focus on the doors for very long, because we went the same way as I arrived; left, left, right and walking up on the stairs. Only we didn't go outside once we were upstairs; Sherlock entered the first door on the left in the hallway. I followed.

I saw four men sitting in the room with their hands in the air. I recognized them as the three people who sat in the car with me and their boss. He didn't deserve that name. A boss was someone who demanded respect. Yes, he demanded it, but he didn't _deserved_ it. He didn't deserve the name 'man', perhaps 'snake' or 'git' was a better word for him.

He grinned when we locked eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

**Okay, I posted something other than this chapter, and I'm so sorry for that. I changed it immediately, but FF was being weird, and it wouldn't upload this one. Apologies.**

**Beta'd by jack63kids.**

* * *

I'm looking out of the window with my head leant against it, watching the landscape that flies by.

When Sherlock and I got upstairs, we saw that John had been guarding four seated Americans on the floor with a gun. After a few moments of embracing him - which had seem highly necessary to do, though I didn't think Sherlock would appreciate being hugged - I let go and turned to Sherlock.

"How did you find me?" I had asked, my heart still beating rapidly because of the adrenaline.

Sherlock snorted. "Please," he scoffed. I had felt the familiar unease of being stared at, but that was how it was with Sherlock observing me. You'd think that you'd get used to it after a while, but apparently you don't.

"How long was I gone?"

"Four hours and thirty-seven minutes." It shouldn't have been very surprising, but I was surprised; only Sherlock could know the exact time.

It was a very, very short time to be abducted - a lot of people have had worse - but they still had managed to make me feel the deepest hatred I ever felt before in my life. The still grinning man was someone I knew I couldn't simply forget. It also was the longest four hours and thirty-seven minutes in my life.

"What about the man downstairs?"

"Not important," the detective said. John had given us a confused look, but Sherlock ignored it. I hadn't said anything either, since I didn't felt like talking for long periods of time, so I shrugged a bit at the blonde.

"Right, I'm going to call the police," John handed Sherlock, who had put on an annoyed face, his gun and John walked out of the room, already digging for his mobile in his pocket.

Suddenly I remembered my phone again, it was probably still recording. I retrieved it from my pocket and found that my guess was right. I immediately stopped the recording and gave it to Sherlock.

"What am I, a kind of vault?" he scoffed.

"Evidence," I explained shortly. "Or do you want Mycroft to have it?"

He frowned. Out of nowhere, he clenched his fingers around my mobile phone and put it in his pocket. "I'd rather not."

"Bitch!" I heard one of the four people yell. "I hope your mother dies, and-" Sherlock tutted and pointed the gun at him, removing the safety of the deathly device. The Afro-American immediately shut up.

John had come right after that and probably sensed the tension in the room, because he walked straight to me. "Are you all right?"

I just nodded and walked away, heading outside. I desperately needed some air, suddenly. When I inhaled the fresh air, I felt the heavy feeling of relief washing over me. I sat down with my knees drawn up to my chest and my arms clenched around them. I closed my eyes, rested my chin on my chest, forehead touching a knee, and my back against the wall. It could have been a minute or an hour, but after a while I heard a familiar voice close to me.

"Katy," John had said carefully, "I'm just going to check your bruises."

I looked up and saw him kneeling in front of me. I studied his face whilst he was checking the bruises - or wounds, whatever you'd like to call them, they're both I think - and our position reminded me of the time I'd sat next to the toilet. I inhaled the fresh air, trying to fight off the nausea. Slowly but surely, I felt the adrenaline fading.

"I don't feel so good," I muttered, forehead leaning against the knees again.

I didn't mean only my physical state, but my mental state of mind too. I just felt drained, tired and beaten up by the last few weeks. Ever since I got to London, things had been more... eventful. But that didn't always mean good things. Yes, since Sherlock and John have been involved there's been more process, and important things have been revealed by the smug genius - and I was incredibly grateful for that - but look where it got me. I wasn't sure I was ready to do all these things.

Somehow responding to my thoughts, he said, "You're safe now." I felt a hand rubbing my back, trying and succeeding to comfort me. "I called the police, they'll be here soon. As will your aunt."

My head had shot upwards. _This wasn't good,_ I thought. She'd be convinced that going back to London will put me in danger. That I'd have to stay here. With her. Not finding Mum. _No. __No no no no no. _

The police and an ambulance had arrived just then. Some officers went inside - coming outside later with five handcuffed men - and two stayed with me. One talked to me, and one took John aside and talked to him in private. The officer who stayed with me and a paramedic who joined her were talking to me. Comforting me. Taking my statement. Asking me some questions. Probably. I don't know. I couldn't hear her anymore; I tuned her out. All I could think of was Aunty who would probably be angry with me and would probably prison me in my room, so that I won't get back to London.

It turned out that I was right.

When she had arrived, she was concerned. And cross, indeed. But not with me.

"Then why didn't you follow her?" John had asked heatedly after Aunty Patty said something to him and Sherlock, something about not looking out for me. Luckily, the police woman who stayed with me left us alone. Sherlock was standing a few meters away from us, talking to someone over the phone. It didn't seem like he was talking to someone he liked, but then, it was Sherlock. He didn't really like anyone - at least, as far as I know - except for John.

"You don't know her," Patty said crossly. She pulled me up from the ground whilst she continued. "She was always a kid who'd needed space, literally. She simply walked away when she wanted to. I never approved of it, of course, but her mum did. She said she could do what she wanted, as long as she didn't do anything bad. I knew better than saying anything. My sister would get worked up when someone criticised her. So please, don't blame this on my behavior towards Katy, but yours." Sherlock joined us whilst Patty pulled me in for a hug. She continued talking over my shoulder. "You two have made a mistake as well."

"Excuse me?" It wasn't Sherlock or John who had said it, but me. I pulled away and I felt all the fear of me staying with her converting into anger. "You weren't even _worried_ about me."

"Kate, I was worried," she said, but her facial expression wasn't honest. I didn't believe her. "I _am_ worried."

"Yeah, right. You are worried. I can see that. You are worried about your sister, too," I said sarcastically.

"Yes," Patty confirmed. I laughed, but there was no humor in it. She was hurt, I could see that, but I didn't feel like stopping. The last few weeks were almost overwhelming, and maybe this was the end result.

"If you were so worried, where were you then? You were not the one who saved me. They were." I pointed behind my back at Sherlock and John. "Not you. Not the police. So I'd rather go back to London, where I'm safe. Where the fact that Mum's missing, is actually worked on. I never heard anything from you or the police here. So, please, let me go back."

"Katy, I-" Patty looked apologetic, but I interrupted her.

"You know what. No. I won't be asking for your permission anymore. You're not my Mum and-" I stopped talking when I felt a hand on my wrist. I looked back and saw it was John's.

"That's enough, don't you think?" he said quietly and gently. The silence that followed was thick.

Then I'd noticed the emptiness around us. There only was one car and no police cars or an ambulance. Just the small blue car that Patty had arrived in and the four of us. Sherlock with an intrigued expression on his face, John looked worried and Patty apologetic. I realized what I'd done; yelled at possibly the one remaining direct family member I had left. _But that isn't true,_ I thought. _They told me Mum's alive. _But somewhere I didn't believe it completely. The man could've been lying. It wouldn't be surprising.

I swallowed and nodded slowly. I knew that an apology was in order, but I knew I meant what I said. That it was true. "Sorry," I muttered anyway and turned my back on Patty.

At that moment, a taxi pulled in next to the blue car - Sherlock had apparently called one - and we stepped into the vehicle. I didn't say goodbye to my aunt, but I knew even if I had wanted to, I still hadn't the strength. I rested my eyes before taking in the building in front of us, and leaned my head against the window. Just as I'm doing right now. I didn't sleep; I was still very aware of what was happening around me. A turn of the round, a rock on the road, a gap in the road, et cetera. We stopped after a while and when I opened my eyes, I recognized Mum's house. Not mine's, not Dad's, not home. It didn't feel like that anymore.

"I'm going to get a drink." John touched me on the shoulder and yanked me back to reality. "Do you want anything?"

"Coffee, please." He frowned, obviously thinking that wasn't a good idea, but went anyway.

When I entered the house, I walked into the kitchen and retrieved the First Aid-kit. I took it to the dinner room, sat on a chair and opened the kit. John sat before me and cleaned my facial wounds. Somewhere Sherlock had told us we'd ten minutes left before going to the station and taking the train back to London. After a few minutes John was done cleaning and I stood up and headed to my room. I had only opened the door and stood in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob for I don't know how long. When I knew I had to go downstairs, I sighed and it felt like a goodbye - as opposed to my first time of leaving. Then, it had only felt like I was on holiday or something of the sort.

"Here you go," John said while he sat beside me and handed me my coffee.

"Thanks," I said quietly, but I don't he had heard; Sherlock was talking.

"Why didn't you buy me one?"

"Oh, please," John half laughed. "I do not want you hyper from caffeine in this train." But Sherlock wasn't listening. His eyes darted around the train carriage we were in, eyeing the passengers and baggage, but there was something distant in his eyes. Thinking, perhaps.

I took a sip from my coffee and my face contorted.

"Burned your tongue?" John asked, seemingly amused. I nodded, holding a hand before my mouth and putting my cup on the table in front of me. _It's almost funny how there can be a gun pointed at you one moment and then the next moment you're on a train, burning your tongue on coffee that's too hot._ "What's wrong?" John asked worriedly, his amusing smile gone.

I realized the concerning thought must have shown on my face. "Nothing, I-" I shook my head distractedly, staring at something. "Nothing."

The rest of the journey was rather silent, just as the first. Neither of us tried to start a conversation, which was a relief. When we arrived in London, we took a cab and headed for 221B Baker Street. Sherlock immediately headed for his experiment in the kitchen and John ordered Thai. I didn't eat much, but then that wasn't surprising. John went off to bed sometime in the night. I just watched TV for god know's how long. On the news they mentioned a murder; a man in his twenties had been stabbed to death. The wounds were in the shape of a heart. I looked over to Sherlock, wondering if he had heard it._ Probably not,_ I thought.


	16. Chapter 16

I turned around.

I didn't know how to feel about having had no notification of a text or a missed call from Auntie Patty. Should I be happy about that, because that'd mean Auntie was fine with me staying in London, solving the case. Or, should I be worried that I'd probably ruined our relationship? Worried, I certainly was. Happy, not so much. Our relationship is very important to me: Mum and Auntie Patty are my only close relatives, and I wasn't sure how I would feel about having one instead of two. But which one would that be?

_Shut up, Katy,_ I thought sternly to myself, _everything's going to be fine. _

I shifted.

I hated the feeling of not being able to do something. The only thing I could do was providing information to Sherlock and John, perhaps the police, but that was it. For the last couple of years I haven't been dependent on my parents. I had a job, so I could take care of myself. I was good with money, so I could take care of myself for a longer time_._ Now, I'm not anymore. I hate it. I was dependent on so many people: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, the police, perhaps even Mum and Auntie Patty. And to think of it, I hadn't even met the most of them less than three weeks ago.

Again, I turned around and grunted.

I wanted to check on my phone to see if there was a notification I had missed, but I stopped myself before I even made the movement. I knew it wasn't a good idea: the light of the device would wake me up more than I already was, and if there were no missed text messages or calls - which was a pretty fair bet - I'd only grow worried more.

Frustrated, I threw the blanket off me and sat up on Sherlock's bed, feet on the ground. Once again, Sherlock hadn't need it - at least, that was what John said - and I could use it. Now, there was nothing _to_ use if I couldn't sleep. I put my cotton trousers that I used as pyjamas and socks on. I had thrown them - not the shirt, god no - off in frustration when I felt I was too hot to sleep. It seems that that wasn't the problem, but I didn't know that then.

I stood up and headed for the living room. Feeling very much like a distressed child who can't sleep and goes to their parents for comfort, I shuffled silently through the small hallway before stopping. The only light source in the flat was the one above the kitchen table, but it was enough to light the living room and part of the hallway too. I found Sherlock behind his microscope, again. It almost seemed as if he was glued to the thing, if he wasn't outside or lying down on the sofa. I walked towards my phone that was being charged in the living room and checked it, but as suspected: no missed text messages or calls.

I tried to think of something else to do, but I failed. I walked over to Sherlock and took a - surprisingly - empty chair.

"Good morning," I said sleepily as I remembered the time on my phone. There was no reply, but then, I didn't expect any. "What are you doing?" I asked, eyeing the clear, sticky, and dense liquid on the slide as I thanked God for not feeling ill anymore. I suspect the stress and adrenalin may have been the cause of that, but I wasn't sure. The other thing I wasn't sure about, was if I even wanted to know what he was doing.

"Observing the chemical reaction of hydrochloride on vitreous humour," he answered as if it was obvious. It wasn't.

"Ah," I muttered. "And why would you do something as disgusting as that? A case, or just for fun?" He merely shrugged, and I giggled. I almost couldn't remember the last time that I laughed. Surely it must have been recently, but it seemed like a lifetime. Suddenly, the giggles died away. "Do you think I'll see Mum again?"

"I have not been given enough data."

"But if you did? Will I see her again?"

He placed his hands on the table from the microscope and looked at me for the first time I had spoken to him. "Yes." I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders. "But the data isn't sufficient."

I pretended not to hear the last words, despite my self imposed protocol of 'do not lie to or deceive yourself'. After a moment of Sherlock looking at me with his infuriatingly blank expression that he wore all the time - god, how does he do it? - I asked with a sigh, "You don't like these sort of cases, do you?"

"No," he answered as he turned towards his microscope again.

"Sorry," I heard myself apologizing. His eyes locked with mine, and for the first time I could see something other than a neutral expression that was directed at me. There was wonder, disbelief and surprise in those eyes, but it was back to the maddening blank expression after a second. To be honest, I was surprised with myself too: I should've been mad that he didn't care, but this was Sherlock. I didn't exactly know how his mind worked, but I figured it wasn't something like mine and other 'normal' people. And if that wasn't enough, I could tell myself I apologized because I was afraid he might stop investigating Mum's disappearance. I decided to change the subject before focusing on it too long. "Why not?"

He didn't reply. He probably talked with me long enough to last him a week. I silently sighed, wondering what to I could do next. I wasn't even near being tired, so the option 'go back to sleep' that the rational part of my mind was screaming wasn't something to do. I checked my other needs, desperate to find something to do. _Do I have to go to the loo? No. Shower? No, but perhaps later. Hungry? No. Thirsty? Yes._ I smiled. _Finally. _

I chose to make tea: partly because I fancied it but mostly because it took longer than filling a glass of water. Then, I realized I didn't even know where the teapot was kept. I didn't see it on the counter but that wasn't a big deal, I practically had all the time in the world. I filled the kettle with water and flicked the button down. I grabbed a glass out of the sink, cleaned it a bit and dried it off with the most clean dishcloth I could find. I found a teapot three cabinets later and by then, the kettle has boiled. Next to the kettle, I picked up a Green Tea-tea bag. I prepared the tea, and filled my glass with the tea. I brought my cup of tea to the sofa where my phone was placed too, and decided I'd check the news.

I crammed my feet under my thighs and leaned against the side of the sofa, hand around my cuppa. Because there was no way I could find the most recent newspaper in this flat - although it would've been a nice distraction - I retrieved my phone. I opened the Times-app and browsed through the articles but I stopped when one of them catched my eye. The article was about the murder from yesterday - the man who had been left in an alley with a carved heart on his chest. The photo of the man - not when he was dead, of course; the photo was cut out from a group picture - that was attached was familiar with me. The man, that is.

After a while I realized I hadn't finished my tea yet, so I drank it and lay my phone aside. _What to do next?_ I sighed. I still didn't feel like sleeping, so I figured it won't happen anytime soon. Better to get ready for the day, then. I headed for Sherlock's bedroom - my bag had been moved from the living room to there - but was stopped by Sherlock's voice as I passed the kitchen.

"She is clever," his eyes hadn't left the microscope.

I frowned. "Who is?"

He didn't answer my question. "If she wants to be found, she will reveal herself," he paused for a moment and then continued, "It's not time, yet."

I nodded slowly. "Thank you," I said, but it was so soft I wasn't even sure I said it at all, and walked away.

* * *

I was on the sofa, reading John's blog, when I heard the front door open and two voices talking. One I recognized as Mrs. Hudson - I was surprised that she opened the door so quickly: the sun had just risen - and the other one was from a grown man that I didn't know.

In the last two hours, I had thoroughly showered - making sure there wasn't any trace of filth left from the god forsaken warehouse - put on clothes, made breakfast for myself - finally enjoying the sensation of eating whatever you'd fancy and as much as you can without worrying about throwing it up minutes later - washed the dishes, cleaned the flat a bit as far as I could - I didn't dare to touch Sherlock's stuff - and then I realized I could do something much more fun than cleaning: so I read John's blog. Sherlock, on the other hand, hadn't moved an inch.

The door had closed again and I heard footsteps going up on the stairs. I glanced at Sherlock and I didn't know if I should worry or not: had Sherlock dismissed the footsteps because he knew the person, or maybe he hadn't heard them because he was too deep in his own world?

I swallowed. _What if that person was someone from the warehouse? What if he's coming for me? _I immediately sat straighter, ready to attack or run away - I didn't know what I'd do.

Much to my relief, it wasn't someone from the warehouse, but I recognized him as the man with the grey hair from the crime scene the first night I had been in London, and I relaxed a little. When he saw me, he looked surprised if not taken aback. It took a moment for him to recover and he asked, "Who are you?"

_Subtle,_ I thought. I opened my mouth to say something, but Sherlock beat me to it.

"Katy Gibbs, and not your problem right now," he answered for me with annoyance in his voice. "Why do you ask for my help _now_? You surely knew, once you saw the body, that you needed my help."_  
_

I frowned. How did Sherlock know that? I wanted to ask, but I stopped myself before anything came out of my mouth. I'd only receive a sneer from Sherlock. _Better not_, I thought.

"DI Greg Lestrade, nice to meet you," the man said to me with a sigh.

"Likewise," I smiled. It seemed as if he had to put up with Sherlock's... personality a lot. _Poor him._

Greg turned to Sherlock. "As for you, I don't always need you."

"Oh _please_," Sherlock stood up. "You always need me." He walked over to where his coat was and put it on, while he yelled for John. _Poor John._ "What's the address?"

Greg gave the address to Sherlock and left the flat with a goodbye. While that happened, I heard faint stomping and other sounds of someone who just had been rudely woken by his flatmate. _Poor John,_ I thought again. Sherlock fetched John's coat as the sounds came closer and there were footsteps on the stairs. When Sherlock threw the coat towards John and they climbed down the stairs, a realization hit me.

_What if something would happen while they're away? What if I'd get kidnapped again? _

"Wait!" I yelled, jumping off the sofa and running towards the landing just before the stairs. I saw Sherlock was at the door and John had stopped on the last step. They both looked up at me, John with concern on his face and Sherlock's eyes roaming over my stance with his ever so blank expression, but both showed curiosity. "I- um," I stammered, not knowing what to say next. '_I don't want to be alone, I'm scared, I need protection, can I come with you?'_ was the truth, but it sounded so desperate. _God, this is embarrassing. _

Luckily, Sherlock seemed to understand. "Fine," he said with sigh and rolled his eyes.

I quickly grabbed my coat from the flat, shut the door and I found John and Sherlock speaking quietly but they immediately stopped when they noticed I began to descend the stairs. Once outside, Sherlock managed to get a cab surprisingly fast for five in the morning.

* * *

**Beta'd by 'jack63kids', once again: thank you. **

**I will not - actually, it's 'can't' - write for this week and the next, because this week I'll get pretty busy. As for the next week, I will go to Austria from Saturday to next week Sunday. I'm so excited to go snowboarding again, but I hate it that I cannot write for almost two weeks. Though, I will write some drafts when I have the time. Perhaps the next update takes even longer: after my holiday, the next two weeks will also be very busy. I hope the next chapter will come sooner of course, but I can't do anything about it if it takes a long time. I'm sorry for this.**


	17. Chapter 17

**I cannot say anything else than apologizing for the hiatus. I really am sorry. Expect four more chapters within the next few days. The story is done after that. I have not planned an epilogue, but if you want me to write it, just say so.**

**(And damn it, there's a space in the middle of a word that keeps annoying me, because no matter how much I delete it and save it, it just _stays_ there. Didn't think you could hate such a small thing so much.)**

* * *

When the cab stopped, Sherlock immediately stepped out of it and John stayed to pay, so I didn't know who to follow. I figured it would be best to just exit the car and walk to the scene myself. Once I reached the yellow police tape, I stopped. I didn't expect to be let in, and I would have gladly waited at the side of the scene. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to see the body. I stood there with my hands in the pockets of my coat, looking around, when I saw that a woman I recognized as Sally was approaching me.

"Katy."

"Hello," I greeted her with a small smile.

Sally didn't reply, instead she just inspected me suspiciously. She looked at me, then at John, and at me again. Her eyes wandered down and up again, with a bit of a surprised expression on her face. I shifted on my feet as I felt hugely judged. Still not as bad as getting inspected by Sherlock, though.

"What are you doing?"

I started when I heard John's voice behind me. "She's with us, Sally."

She let out an annoyed sigh. "Look, John. I hate letting you and the Freak in, I don't want a kid around here."

I started talking before John had even the chance to answer. "I'm not a kid."

She raised an eyebrow, and I could see what she meant. She'd taken me in. She had given me a roof to sleep under. If I wasn't a kid, I would have taken care of such things for myself. Still, there's no way I'd admit that. Sally looked at John. "There's no way I'm going to let her in, John. Now hurry up, before my patience wears out."

John's apologetic looking eyes searched mine, and I waved a hand. "I'm fine. You have a murder to solve," I said, and John left. When I stayed, Sally looked at me. I cleared my throat and let probably the whole world know I was uncomfortable with saying what I was about to say. _Let's get it over with._ "Sally, I wanted to apologize for being rude to you and your-" _Lover? Boyfriend? Partner in cheating-on-the-person-you-are-married-to-and-to-s upposed-to-love-unconditionally?_ "- friend. I shouldn't have done that."

Sally only stared at me. After a few moments she said sternly, "I said to hurry up. That means you, too."

I huffed. "Fine. You're welcome, by the way." I smiled falsely and walked away with my hands in the pockets of my jacket. _Bitch._

* * *

Because I didn't have any money with me, I had to walk to Baker Street. Not that I minded, though. If I had taken a cab, I would have needed the keys of 221B, nor did I want to wake Mrs. Hudson who had gone to bed after DI Lestrade came, so I guess I hadn't any option but to walk. Plus, it was a beautiful day, despite the rejection earlier in the morning.

The walk was nice, too. The weather finally was acting like spring, as it was supposed to do. I even felt hot in my jeans and jacket, and I wished I'd put on something cooler than winter clothes. Also, it was nice to see the city wake up. Slowly but surely, the streets get busier and the number of people on the pavements grew.

Of course, it wasn't as enjoyable as it could have been. If I didn't feel compelled to look at everyone who made a sudden movement or hold my finger pressed on the speed dial to John in the pocket of my jacket, I would have liked the walk better.

Whilst sitting in a park and watching people walk their dogs, I recalled a flash of a somewhat bittersweet memory. Years ago, Dad and I had always fancied a dog. Mum didn't, so we hadn't gotten one. Some time after Dad died, Mum had explained to me that she didn't want a dog because she had got bitten once, when she was younger. She was still afraid of them biting her, but more afraid that they'd bite me. A week later, we went to the animal shelter. Mum asked for a dog to pet that wouldn't bite me, and I'd played with him. I could remember the dog very clearly. A black but greying old Labrador, named Demi. She was the best friend I'd had at the time. After playing with her, we went to the animal shelter at least once a month, only to find out they'd killed Demi off because nobody wanted her after a year. That was the first time I had been cross at Mum for days.

I looked at the clock on my phone and saw that it was almost seven o'clock. I figured Mrs. Hudson would be up now, so I began walking the last quarter of an hour to 221B Baker Street.

* * *

"Yoo-hoo! Katy?" Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door, and looked around the living room until she found me sitting on the sofa. "You have a visitor."

I frowned. "Who?"

Mrs. Hudson only winked. "I'll be downstairs if you need me," she said, and then disappeared. I could hear her say, "Go ahead, darling," before I saw who entered the main room.

Jamie was here. I had totally forgotten about him. _Oh, god._

"What are you doing here?" I asked and winced over my spectacular subtlety.

"Um, I- um," he fidgeted with the coat of his sleeve. "Sherlock," he said finally, as if that was an explanation. Funny enough, it was.

"Right," I said slowly. _Awkward. _Perhaps forgetting about your potential boyfriend wasn't a good move, after all. Desperate to fill the awkward silence, I said, "Sherlock isn't here. He and John were called in by DI Lestrade, and are now on a case. You can leave a note, if you want."

"No, thanks," Jamie said, "I'll come by later."

"Okay." I nodded, thinking that he'd leave now. He didn't seem to intend to leave, though. "What's the matter?"

"How have you been, Kate?"

Suddenly more uncomfortable - yes, apparently it was possible - I smiled politely and said, "Fine, and you?" because I really, _really_ didn't want to talk about what happened, again.

"Katy, I don't know what happened exactly, but I know it's serious. I had to look after you, and I'd rather do it in person than secretly." He sighed before he spoke again. "Are you sure you don't want anyone to talk to?"

I raised my chin and squeezed my eyes a bit. "Who told you that?"

"Sherlock."

I let out a humorless laugh. "I may not know him well, but at least it's enough to know he isn't like that."

Jamie sighed and closed his eyes. "Mycroft."

I frowned. Again. "Truth?"

"Yes." He looked me straight in the eyes, and I couldn't find anything to give him away if he was lying.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Wouldn't he rather arrange a therapist for me or something?"

"I said I don't know, Katy." He leaned on the back of Sherlock's chair, looking at me with a frustrated look in his eyes. "Look, you're missing the point here. I know you aren't fine, and I know you're stubborn as hell, but please, tell me what it is."

"So you can tell Mycroft about it?"

"No!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. "Or yes, maybe, I don't know," he confessed, softer this time. "I have to tell him."

A wave of hurt flooded in my body, and it stayed in my chest. "I want you to leave."

"Katy..."

"Go." I lay down on the sofa and turned around, so that my back was turned to him. I heard the door close a few seconds later, and the door downstairs after a minute or so.

* * *

It was when John and I went out to get Thai food, he got a text message. Not a big deal you might say, but it was enough to make John sigh and change directions.

"Sherlock?" I asked.

He hummed as an answer and got a cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked gruffly as I stepped into the car.

"New Scotland Yard," John answered, and off we went.

I saw the police cars and the paparazzi first before the building itself. The photo cameras flashed as a blonde woman stepped out of a police car and walked hastily into the Yard. I frowned before I asked John, "Sherlock doesn't have to do anything with that, does he?"

He simply shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me. It _is_ Sherlock."

About five minutes later, I followed John, who was ahead of me for about two meters, through some hallways. I looked through every window while I walked quickly to keep up with John's strides, but I stopped once something behind a window caught my attention.

There was a woman - I recognized she was the same woman from before - talking to fellow police officers, it seemed. There was a white screen behind her, a projector showing a picture of a man on it. A man whom I recognized.

It was Kordell, the man from the warehouse.

My heart started beating fast and I started to sweat.

Luckily, there were so many people in the room, I figured I could stand behind the threshold of the door and listen in. Just when I was positioned, the woman ended her speech with, "Any questions?"

A man raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"The person who got abducted, can't we interview him?"

_'Him'?_

The blonde woman gave him a small, tight smile. "That person seems to be missing, again, Johnson."

_I'm not missing. What the hell is going on?_

"Any further questions? No? Go back to your desks and start working, people."

I quickly stepped away from the threshold and started walking the same direction that John had gone earlier. It took a few minutes, but I found John and Sherlock as my heart slowed down. I saw them standing in a glass office, clearly in some argument or something of the sort. When I got closer, I could see DI Lestrade sitting in front of a desk and, ah, Sally's _friend_ sitting next to him as well. Seeing him made me think of that awful moment when I woke up.

"There's no need to be afraid, Katy, although I know Anderson is frightening," Sherlock said with a smirk. I thought no one saw the flinch that I had made, but then again, _Sherlock._

"Shut up," I muttered, looking down, and then up again, because the blonde woman was passing by. Having the strong urge to follow her, I slipped away when DI Lestrade and Sherlock got into an argument again about not getting enough access to the case or something. Apparently the slipping away succeeded, because no one followed me.

The blonde woman went right, then left, and entered a room. Slowing my walk down a bit, I could see her leave again after a few moments with some pieces of paper in her hand. Figuring I should be quick, I looked into the room she'd entered, and it turned out to be an empty office. A large one, at that.

There were five desks near the windows and one at the back, in the centre. There stood a large table in the middle, where photos and two dossiers were settled. One dossier was open, which must be because the woman opened it. Walking towards it, I already could see that it was the one about Kordell and the others. On the file, I could also read which department the file was directed to: narcotics.

I frowned. _Narcotics? _Why did that boss hate Mum, then? How did they know each other? Unless... No, Mum can't be a drugs dealer. But, what then?

Quickly, I read further. It wasn't just about Kordell, though. The dossier included more files about a certain person. Not all of them, but some I recognized from a few days ago. The boss, Keith Cooper, apparently, the driver, Josef Peterson, and-

"Katy?"

_Shit._ I turned around and found DI Lestrade standing there, in the office, with a confused expression on his face.

"What are you doing here?"

"I- uh," I stammered, feeling my cheeks grow hot.

"You're lucky I know you, because when someone else had found you, you'd have been in big trouble," he said. "Come on, before someone finds you. Sherlock and John were looking for you. Well, mostly John."

"Yeah, um, you won't have to walk me back to the entrance, sir."

"Oh, no, I insist. Before you get lost again," he said sarcastically.

Fine, then. "What were you doing in the office, anyway?"

He looked me in the eyes, almost as if he was checking something, before he responded. "If you must know, a case will be handed to my department, soon."

I squinted my eyes. "Which case?"

He simply smiled, and stopped walking. That's when I noticed we were back in the entrance hall. Outside, there stood Sherlock and John, which gave me a brief flashback to when they picked me up after the... _smoking_ accident.

As I reached them, John frowned. "Where were you?"

I almost laughed out loud. Instead, I huffed in amusement. "Yeah, that's the problem. Apparently, I'm missing."

John turned to Sherlock. "Mycroft?"

"Likely." He turned around, and started walking.

"Hold on a minute. That's it? No confusion, no revenge for your brother getting involved again? Is there something you might want to tell me?" The last question was meant for John, too.

"My brother involves himself in all kinds of things. Why do you think the police and ambulance exited the scene so quickly?" Baffled, I stood still, unable to move. "Exactly."

"'Where is he? I need to speak with him."

"North-Korea."

I sighed and closed my eyes briefly. "Of course, he is."

* * *

After I heard John entering the bathroom and closing the door, I grabbed his phone that he happened to have lost after he sat on the sofa and fell asleep there. Not my fault I hadn't Mycroft's number and he had. Probably.

But of course, the phone had a lock on it.

"Sherlock, what's the lock on John's mobile phone?" I asked from the living room.

"'sherlocksodoff', no capital letters," I heard from the kitchen.

I tried it, and grinned a bit. "Thanks."

I selected Mycroft and called him. It took three rings before he picked it up. "John," his voice wasn't cold, not completely.

"Not exactly. Might want to tell me what's going on?"

"Mrs. Gibbs, a pleasure to speak with you again," he said smoothly, "but I doubt you'd be interested in politics."

Fine. If he wanted to play dumb, I'll do that, too. "Oh, very much so. I do hope you won't start a war, though."

I heard him laugh. "Never. Why would I?"

It was a rhetorical question, but I answered anyway. "Don't know. Perhaps because you're a manipulative bastard?"

He laughed, again, only this time it was shorter and colder. "Ah, the Gibbs family. You're very much like your mother."

Hope grew in my chest. Alongside anger. "Don't you fucking start, too. You don't know my Mum."

"In some ways no, in some ways yes."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Goodbye, Mrs. Gibbs. It was a pleasure."

"No, don't-" but it was too late, he'd already hung up. I murmured some other words Mum wouldn't approve of, and heard a small chuckle from the kitchen. "Why are you laughing?"

"Imagine having Mycroft as a brother."

I did, and then grimaced. "No, thanks."

When John got back, hair dripping wet and all, I handed him his phone.

"I found it."

"Thank you. Where was it?"

"In my pocket."

It was silent for a moment before John replied. "God help me, you're _really_ turning into Sherlock."


	18. Chapter 18

**I'm the Cliffhanger Monster! Fear me!**

**Also, much thanks to jack63kids for beta-ing, as always.**

* * *

After getting a bit more sleep than the previous night, I found myself lying awake in Sherlock's bed in the dark, again. I couldn't stop thinking about the file. The file about_ my captors,_ for God's sake. I wanted to know where they were. Were they in captivity, or were they free? Was I safe, or not? It would be nice to get answers, for once.

Not wanting to stay in bed and get crazy over not being able to sleep, I stepped out of it and walked towards the living room. I looked into the kitchen, expecting to see Sherlock behind his microscope, but found no one. Stepping into the main room, I saw him sitting in his chair with a laptop on his lap. I mumbled a 'Good morning', and got nothing back. At least that was expected. Except, there was something different. Looking more closely, I saw that his eyes were closed.

_My God. Is Sherlock Holmes actually sleeping?_

Ha. That'd be a bummer for him once he discovers I busted him for being somewhat human after all.

Just as I pulled a blanket over my legs after I took a seat on the sofa, I heard something metallic clatter downstairs. It took a moment for me to realize it was the letterbox. The sound could have been made by some drunk teens, but I didn't hear laughing or people in general. Just the sound of cars, moving around in the city. Curious, I threw the blanket away and silently made my way downstairs.

I saw an envelope lying on the doormat. One corner was folded, probably from sliding it through the letterbox. Other than that, the letter itself seemed orderly and well presented. Because of the darkness, I only saw the name when I had the envelope in my hands.

'_Katy Amelia Elizabeth Gibbs_'

I was certain my heart stopped for one or two beats. The only people who knew I was staying here, at 221B Baker Street, were Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson, Auntie Patty, Mycroft, Jamie, and DI Lestrade. If one of them wanted to speak to me, they just could ring or visit me. They didn't need a letter.

Then I realized it mustn't be my day today, because I only just recognized my Mum's handwriting. Without warning, my chest hurt from the sudden hope and giddiness and worry and nervousness. God, I was already babbling in my own head. Just to release some tension and because I probably wouldn't get the chance again (those were the only two reasons, I convinced myself), I jumped in the air in excitement.

I walked upstairs as quiet as possible - which wasn't very quiet, since I barely could contain myself. I looked down at the letter, reading the name again to make sure it was actually my own name and not someone else's, and jumped when it got snatched out of my hand.

"Christ, Sherlock," I said - or rather, shrieked - as I held a hand to my heart.

"Who?" Sherlock asked distractedly, mostly directing his attention towards the letter.

A pause.

"You know Jesus Christ, right?" I asked quietly. After only getting a blank look, I laughed, because _honestly_, the last five minutes were absurd.

"You touched it," he scoffed, after inspecting the letter.

_So did you,_ I wanted to say, but instead said sarcastically, "Pardon me for finding it weird for getting a letter in the middle of the night." Then I said a bit softer, "It's my Mum's handwriting."

Sherlock snapped his head up, almost enough for me to wince for him, and looked me in my eyes. "Are you certain?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, of course I'm sure. Why else do you think I'm smiling?"

"You're a teenager."

"Yeah, so? You were once, too."

He looked grim for a moment before he turned his attention to the envelope. Then all of a sudden, he walked to the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" I whispered as I quickly followed him.

"Knife."

"What? Why? What do you need a knife for? If you destroy it, I'll-" I trailed off when I saw him open the letter carefully with the knife. "Oh."

Sherlock grabbed a towel and pulled the note within out with care. Eager and curious, I stepped towards him so to see it better.

"_Sheraton Skyline Hotel, Heathrow, Room 23_

_Meet me at 1700 hours._"

I smiled. '_Skyline_'. Dad always loved those. At home, there were a dozen or so framed photographs made of skylines.

The more I read the message, the more restless I got. Sherlock, on the other hand, grew more calm. Well, 'calm'. More like 'still'. He still got a faintly grim look on his face from before. But why? It was fairly obvious, wasn't it? Mum's handwriting plus an invitation equals meeting your Mum. Nothing to worry about, right?

Sherlock reached for a clear plastic bag, which was made for holding evidence, I noticed later on. I wanted to ask why Sherlock had that in his house when it clearly belonged to the police, but instead made a disgusted sound, because that was the only thing I was capable of doing in that moment. When Sherlock had opened the bag and turned it upside-down, a green and brown furred _something_ dropped out of it. A few moments later, the note lay in the bag.

"Stay here." Sherlock took his coat off of the coat hanger and pulled it on.

"Nope," I pulled my coat on, too, and followed Sherlock downstairs, "I'm not going to leave you alone with _my _letter. You're stuck with me, detective." I took a seat in a cab and _how the hell did Sherlock get a cab in the middle of the night so fast._ "Where are we going anyways?"

"St. Barts," Sherlock said, more to the cabby than to me.

I frowned. "What are we going to do there?"

"Fingerprints."

"You wouldn't find anything. Mum's not in the system."

Sherlock didn't reply. I got the strange feeling he held something from me. "What are you not telling me?"

If my Mum _was_ in the system, then I wondered why. For an absurd second, I thought that maybe Mum was a drugs dealer after all, but shook my head. She isn't a drugs dealer. Mum wouldn't do something like that.

It remained quiet in the cab for the rest of the drive.

* * *

"Told you so," I muttered as Sherlock stormed into the flat and used every bit of the sofa as he lay down on it.

We hadn't found anything; the letter was spotless. Well, it was more 'Sherlock' and less 'we'. I had to sit down in a corner of the lab, as he inspected the note. Apparently, I was 'annoying' because I 'smiled too much'. Honestly, I didn't know what he wanted to find. My Mum is spotless, she probably never committed a crime in her life.

"Where were you?" I looked at John, who stood in the kitchen, drying his hands.

"St. Barts."

John raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

I beamed. Just thinking about the letter, made me smile like Auntie Patty in a chocolate store. Not that I could blame her of course, chocolate makes me happy, too. "I got a letter, this morning. It's from Mum. Look." I handed him the plastic evidence bag.

He inspected it for a moment, and gave an incredulous look in Sherlock's direction. My grin fell.

"What is it?"

"It's a bit sudden, isn't it? We haven't heard anything from her all this time, and then we suddenly do. Katy, don't you find that suspicious?"

"No. No, I don't, actually."

"Katy..."

"I'll be there, no matter what. Now, I'm going to shower, and wait for twelve hours."

* * *

These were the longest twelve hours of my _life._ Seconds passed by as minutes, minutes were hours, and hours as days. Daytime television wasn't as amusing as I remembered it, John's blog didn't hold my attention as it used to, and watching pedestrians wasn't as interesting as I found it in the park. Even Sherlock's many stink-eyes he gave me weren't funny to me anymore. It took a lot of effort to not just go to the hotel now.

* * *

"Do you think Mycroft has found her yet?"

Sherlock snorted. "Unlikely, otherwise he wouldn't be this frustrated."

"Frustrated?" I looked up at Sherlock. "He seemed pretty... calm to me."

Sherlock snorted again.

* * *

"Stay still, dear."

"But it itches."

"It's over in a minute."

_60... 59... 58... 57..._

"There, it's done." _24!_ "It's covered quite well, if I may say so myself. Wait, I'll get a mirror." I quickly scratched the itching area. "What do you think?"

I accepted the mirror she handed me, and inspected the make-up covered area on my face. She was right, it is covered quite well. You almost couldn't see the bruise on my cheekbone anymore. I smiled at Mrs. Hudson, who was looking at me expectantly. "Yes, it does look good. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

* * *

"John?"

"Yes?"

I hesitated before I replied. "What if it isn't my Mum?" I turned in my seat to look at him. "What if you were right, that it _is_ suspicious? What if I get kidnapped, again?"

"You won't. We'll go with you. It'll be all right."

I exhaled, feeling relief. _It's going to be fine,_ I thought to myself over and over.

* * *

The cab ride was forty minutes of annoyance (Sherlock), impatience (me), sighs (John), and worried glances in the mirror (the cabby). Once we reached the destination, I practically pushed Sherlock out of the cab and jogged inside. I didn't bother going to the reception. All in my head was '_Mum. I'm going to see you. A few seconds now. Almost. Almost there._' I took the stairs, because the lift didn't open immediately when I ran past it and pushed the up button. After quickly glancing at the many room numbers on the doors, I found the correct one. I thought I heard John and Sherlock over my fast beating heart somewhere behind me, but that could have been other people, for all I knew.

I took a shaky exhale and knocked on the door with my trembling hand. On the first knock, the door was already opening. Except, it opened by itself, because no one stood behind it. I narrowed my eyes in confusion, because _whywasthedooropenMumwasalwaysverycautiousmaybeMumi sn'thereafterall._ I felt a hand closing on my wrist as I stepped into the hotel room. There was a noise behind me, and the hand pulled me back, but I ignored both. Only after taking a couple of steps, I registered a peculiar smell I didn't recognize. It wasn't very strong, but it was there.

Suddenly I was being pushed aside, against the wall, and a tall man with brown curly hair passed me. It took a moment before I recognized the man as Sherlock. My eyes followed him before my attention was drawn to something in front of him.

There was a bed, with white, cozy sheets. They were the kind of sheets only meant for people who could afford luxury. But it wasn't the sheets nor the bed that had drawn my attention. It was about a leg that I could see, bent at the knee, with only its big toe reaching the ground. The toe nails were beautifully painted red, looking like a few dots on the sheets. But not quite. It took a few moments to notice, but I saw those stains, the stains on the sheets, were not the same colour. Nor perfect dots. Like the ones you see on those crime series.

Then it hit me that the person's room belonged to my mother.

I surged forwards, towards the person lying there, except I didn't. I couldn't. Hands on my wrist held me in my place, against the wall. I didn't want to let the person out of my sight, but I did, for a second or two. I glanced down at the hands on my wrist, up to the face of the man to whom they belonged. This man was blonde, so this must be John. His eyes were widened, but only slightly, and I could see the calmness in them. His mouth was moving, but somehow I couldn't understand him, or I couldn't hear him. I didn't know which one was true.

I ducked, jumped, and struggled my way out. I didn't know exactly how long it took, but I succeeded eventually. It only took a few strides to get close to the person. With each step, I saw more of the body. The red dots became big, dark-red stains, especially at the stomach area. The fact that the person was a female, which only made me panic more, but then it stopped. It all stopped. It wasn't my Mum. She had another hair style and colour. The eyes, that were still open, showed another colour too. This woman's appearance was disheveled: messy hair, non-matching and rumpled clothes, whereas my Mum's was always perfectly organized. This couldn't be Mum.

I felt horrible, but at the same time I felt like the happiest person in the world. I tried to stop it, but apparently a small smile showed, for John was looking at me funny.

"This isn't Mum," I explained softly, more to myself. I then repeated it, only louder this time. "This isn't my mother."


	19. Chapter 19

**Some difficulties on beta-ing this chapter. Apologies. **

* * *

I saw John and Sherlock share a look. "Are you sure?" John asked. I nodded, but I don't think he saw it, because he turned towards Sherlock. "Have you texted Lestrade yet?"

"Of course I haven't. He and his _team_," he spat out with scorn, "would only ruin the crime scene. John, time and cause of death."

As John moved towards the body, questions filled my mind. This woman obviously knew my mother, otherwise she wouldn't be here. I didn't recognize her, so she hadn't been a family friend. A colleague, perhaps? But, what if she wasn't a friend or colleague at all? Maybe this woman was the one that held Mum captive. Maybe that's how she'd got a letter with my Mum's handwriting on it, meant for me. Why? To lure me?

My blood ran cold as I realized this could all be very much true. I clenched my hands into fists, anger meant for the woman practically boiling in my body. The fact that the woman was already dead made me more furious, because that meant she'd got away without getting what she deserved. Well, she did get it, but not from me.

That thought raised the question of who had killed her. A friend of Mum? Someone she knew? Someone I knew? But if someone wanted to help my mother, I figured I'd have heard it by now. You know, mostly collaboration works in cases like this. Who would be so stupid to go after Mum alone?

_I was,_ I heard myself thinking.

"Katy." Sherlock's voice brought me back to the present.

I looked at them. I think they had called me a few times, because Sherlock and John were both watching me with unreadable expressions. "Yes?"

"I'm going outside to wait for Lestrade, are you coming with me?" John asked, and there was something about his gentle tone I didn't like. It sounded like he already made the decision.

Warily, I took a small step back, opposite to them. "Why? I can stay here, can't I?"

"Actually, you can't. This is not something you should see."

I ground my teeth. "I'm not a child."

"I know that. Katy, ple-"

"We have reason to believe this is your mother," Sherlock said. I almost laughed. "I need you to confirm if this is your mother."

John cast a dark look at Sherlock, and then turned to me. "Katy..."

"You're kidding me, right?" If so, it was a horrible, _terrible_ joke. "That's _not_ her."

The sympathetic look on John's face only grew as he carefully walked towards me. I stepped back automatically. "No, we're not kidding you."

"Believe me for a second, will you. That woman isn't my mother."

John said nothing. Sherlock, breaking the peace, did. "You haven't even looked at her. Come closer and confirm it's her-"

"Will you, just for a moment, shut up!" After a few heavy breaths, I spoke again. "You don't understand. This can't be, _can't, _be my mother."

This time, I stood still when John moved closer to me. "It's going to be okay, Katy," he said quietly. "We need you to confirm if this really is your mother or not, but if you don't want to, that's fine by me. You don't have to listen to Sherlock, he can be an idiot."

The joke he made, it made me want to smile. I didn't do it, though. He looked at me, the question in his eyes, and I remembered the day when Dad was buried. I had made myself tough, just for Mum. I'd carried on doing that my whole life, so why stop now?

I nodded, and walked to the body. I didn't have to go far, because there was a wig lying beside the body's head. When I saw the real hair and hair colour, the possibility that my mother was lying there grew and grew. I didn't want to believe it. I absolutely didn't. I wanted to go home, preferably with my mother there, perhaps even Dad. But that wasn't reality, this is. And this woman that lay here looked an awful lot like my mother. There was a part of me that didn't believe, but there was a bigger part that did believe that this was my mother. My mother with a flesh wound in her stomach.

* * *

Somewhere in the world, a white house was waiting for its owners to come home. Those owners had left separately after some time. First, it was a father, then, it was a mother. The house only had one owner left: a daughter. After only a few days, she couldn't handle the loneliness anymore, so she left too, to get her family back. She intended to come home, but now, she didn't know anymore. The house was a home, but a home wasn't a home without the ingredient that made it a home.

The home wasn't a home anymore. Not for me, at least.

When you're a kid, you expect your parents to live forever. Not just when you're a kid, but also when you grow up. But year after year you start to realize that death is part of life, and that they'd have to die some time in your life. I suppose I believed it, too. That Mum was invincible. That Dad was invincible. They were supposed to be in your life forever. To guide you in life when you don't know which direction to go anymore, to hold you when you're hurt, to make you laugh even when you're already happy. To congratulate when you finish school, to give permission to your wife or husband, to greet your kids when your parents are visiting. I guess that wouldn't happen to me, not anymore.

It made me feel angry inside. Because why Mum, why Dad? Why did they have to die? Why did I get to live, even after something dangerous happened to me? Dad and Mum had done nothing wrong in their lives. They raised me well and made each other happy. Why would anyone want to kill them, murder them? I was told to be good, because then good things will happen to you. You would think, then, that if you do bad things, bad things will happen to you. So why do we do good things, but get bad things in return? It made life seem like it mocked you, even though it could give happiness and joy at the same time. That's not for everyone, then.

I remembered how broken Mum was after Dad died. Or murdered, to be precise. She did her things, like cooking for both of us, taking care of me, doing the laundry, working. But it wasn't like before, like she used to do it. It was the small details. Burning the meat, a little less patience, the temperature too hot when washing or drying clothes, rising a little later. After a while, it went away, but returned into other things. It was clear that Dad's death changed her. And that changed me.

I had been growing too protective, too caring, about my Mum and other people close to me. I didn't want to lose them, like my Mum and I lost my father. The little things Mum did wrong, I did right, just for her. I'd call Mum's employer to let him know she was sick that day, so she couldn't go to work. I cleaned the house where it still was messy. I did most of the little household chores, but that didn't change how dependent I was on my mother.

I wondered how I would change, now. Or maybe I wouldn't change at all. Who knows, only time will tell. The only problem was, I didn't want the time to tell. I wanted the time to wind back and get me happy with Mum and Dad, when our family still was happy. But we can't always get what we want.

After seconds, minutes, hours, I grew more and more aware of my surroundings. I hadn't even realized I had retreated into my mind, to be numb. Because that's how I felt. _Numb._

I noticed my throat was sore. I was sitting on my knees, sitting close to the body that was supposed to be my mother. She didn't look like it, though. Not for the things I had thought of earlier, but she was too pale, too red, too stiff. Too dead. I also felt wetness on my cheeks, which I later realized were tears. That made me cry more, because I hadn't cried since Dad's funeral.

After two minutes or twenty - I didn't know exactly - I noticed that the three of us were no longer alone in the room. At that exact moment, the room became too crowded, too suffocating, yet I didn't want to leave. I needed to stay with my mother; if not for her, then for myself.

I felt a hand on my elbow the same time I saw a medic moving towards Mum. I protested, but I couldn't hear myself say anything. Now that I've thought about it, I hadn't been hearing anything clear. Just quiet, muffled noises. When the hand on my elbow tried to push me up, I tried my best to stay down. I didn't want to leave, even if that meant I'd stay in this stinking room forever. At least I would be with Mum.

I didn't remember much of the thirty minutes after that. It passed by as a blur, or rather, flashes. The next thing I knew was getting up with help, then I was standing outside, and after that, I was sitting in a car - no, an ambulance.

I felt a weight and warmth around my shoulders, but it was too distant, so I didn't bother to look what it was. Instead, I gave the paramedic polite answers. No, I don't use any medication. No, I don't feel dizzy, nauseous, or anything else. I didn't feel anything, really. I just felt numb, but I didn't tell him that. Yes, I would like to be alone for now. Preferably longer than I'd probably get, but I knew I couldn't have that. They'll be monitoring me, I guessed, so I wouldn't be alone either.

In the time I was supposedly alone, I wondered a lot of things. For example, I wondered what I would do if I was left alone. I'd want to go home, wherever that might be. It would be a normal thing to do after such situations, wouldn't it? Go home, to a place where you feel safe. But that's just it. It is _normal._ I don't want normal, not now. I don't want people to be their usual selves, because something terrible has happened. I want them to be sad, or at least a bit touched by the fact that Mum was lying there, in that hotel, dead. But I don't want them to pity me, like the people who are giving me a side-eye sympathetically. I see them, I just don't react.

I wondered where Mum might be. With Dad, in Heaven? I hoped so. I never really believed in God, Jesus, or in Heaven, but it'd be more than nice if they really exist. Dad and Mum would be reunited again. They'd be happy. Somehow, that made me sad and smile all at once.

I wondered what my life would look like, after all this. Will I be happy without my parents? Will I find a job, a husband, and have kids? And staying a little closer to the present, where would I live? At Aunt Patty's, or by myself? At the moment, I didn't like either choice.

I didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually the paramedic came up to check up on me again. I told him I was fine, and no, I wasn't hungry. I did feel a hole in my stomach, though, but whether it was because of being hungry or something else, I didn't know. I didn't tell him this because one: honestly, it wasn't any of his business, and two: does it matter whether I'm hungry or not when my _mother_ has died? No, it doesn't.

Nothing really mattered if you compared it to her death.


	20. Chapter 20

It wasn't overt, but I could still see a sympathetic expression somewhere in John's eyes. It almost drove me mad, because everyone, except for Sherlock, was wearing that expression. The paramedics, Sally, DI Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and even some people on the street I never seen before wore it. That's why I could almost laugh in excitement when Mycroft stepped into the dreadful silence in 221B, without the stupid face. Well, that would be a stupid _expression_, because he'll always have his face. But I held in that laugh because one: I didn't feel like laughing, and two: why does Mycroft have to get involved again?

"Evening, John, Miss Gibbs. Sherlock."

"Couldn't stay away from where you aren't wanted, could you, Mycroft?" Sherlock replied to Mycroft's greeting.

"The failure over the delivery of the liver you asked for isn't my fault, brother. I merely wanted to give Katy this," Mycroft said, and only then I noticed he had something like a book in his hand. "She told me to give it to you when it's needed."

_'She'? _I thought as I accepted the book - diary, I could see now - Mycroft handed me. I opened it, and immediately recognized the handwriting. _Mum,_ I thought.

The whole day I'd been successful at keeping my face blank, my voice steady, so I was annoyed that the latter broke when I thanked Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled at me. Fake or real, I couldn't tell. "I must depart. Miss Gibbs, please accept my condolences. Your mother was of great importance to me." He turned to the other men, and said his goodbyes.

I didn't bother to listen to them, and started reading immediately, my curiosity winning again. As soon as I heard the front door close, Sherlock stood up and did something that made John give him a warning. Their voices sounded already distant, since my concentration was on the diary already.

_Dear Kath, _it read. _I do hope you'll never see this diary, because that means I never got to tell you in person. If this happens, Kath, you must know I'm deeply sorry for this. You are my daughter, and I care for you so much. That's why we, your father and I, do this job. You don't know what it is, yet, but all will make sense with time._

_A colleague of mine, Karen, had advised me to buy a diary, for you. She has done the same for her children. I don't think you'll ever meet, but I hope you do. She has been one of my best friends in this horrible situation._

_For now, I must go, but I will update this diary often._

The small book almost screamed history. The pages were dog-eared and had turned yellow. In some there were stains, ink smudges, large texts crossed, and even, to my guessing, small teardrops. At the end of the week, I still knew see which were hers and which were mine.

* * *

_May 13th, 1998._

_Today is your fourth birthday. We went to the park with a few of your friends. You played so sweetly with them, sharing everything, even your new toys. You are so like your father: too kind, helping everyone, and passionate. I consider every one of them as good qualities, because you are a good person. I know that already. You'll make someone, besides your father and I, very happy someday. I only hope you'll be happy, too._

_Happy birthday, Katherine._

* * *

_May 16th, 1998._

_Holmes told me this diary isn't a good idea, that if it falls in the wrong hands, it could be used against me. I know. He underestimates me sometimes, but your father doesn't. I hope he will write in here, too. I think that would be good for you: get to know both of us, before it's too late. If I were totally honest, I'd admit I think it's going to turn bad sometime, if it isn't already. We will always save you, Kath._

* * *

_May 18th, 1998._

_Today, you wanted to be called 'Katy' instead of 'Kath'. You said it was more a big girls' name, and you were a big girl. You're right, you are. I don't know what to think of that._

* * *

_June 3rd, 1998._

_I've thought about it very long, and I've made a decision. I don't think this diary would be helpful to you. It's dangerous. Holmes was right._

* * *

_March 1st, 1999._

_I don't know why I kept this diary for so long, but I did. I found it when we were cleaning, and you held it in your hands. Perhaps it was meant to say something, or not, but I'll take my chances and write in this book for you. You deserve to know what kind of work your father and I do._

_When you were three, we went on a holiday to New York. When we visited the suburbs, we walked around with you in a stroller. We got stopped by a group of men, covered in tattoos (I remember that clearly, without having any reason to). They claimed we saw them dealing drugs. This wasn't true, and we said so. They didn't believe us, and made us come with them, or they'd kill you. You must understand our choice, Katy._

_I'll spare you what happened in the building we got guided to: it wasn't a nice gathering. We got made to deal drugs, after their leader thought it'd be a good idea to station in the UK. They already had connections to Britain, but a couple of western faces would make them look more innocent. We made arrangements, and the three of us went back to the UK sooner than expected._

_After a month or so, your dad and I discussed it when Patty, my sister, picked you up. We decided it would be best to call the police, tell them about our situation. After three days, we got called, telling us we need to go to London to meet a man there. That man later introduced himself as Mycroft Holmes._

_Our conversation was about the drug dealing. Apparently the group of men we worked for, was bigger and mightier than we first thought. Mycroft wanted us to give details to them, the British government, about the drugs, the men, and everything else remotely related to it. To protect your own country, Mycroft had said. We've always hesitated, but we said yes right then, because we had no other choice._

_Since then, we got more and more involved with the British government. It's dangerous, and we try to keep you out of it as much as possible. I dearly hope you don't remember anything from the encounter in the US, and luckily, you haven't showed it yet. I'm grateful for that, Katy._

* * *

Mum had written a lot of things: small things like going to the theatre, or big things, like about Dad.

* * *

_September 23th, 1999._

_Your father has a dangerous mission tomorrow. I want to go with him, but my supervisors won't let me. Your father won't let me either. He doesn't want you to be alone, and neither do I. There's nothing I can do but hope._

_I'm so scared, Katy._

* * *

_November 2nd, 1999._

_I know the man that killed your father, my husband. I know him, and he threatened you. That was a mistake, and I'll make sure he'll know._

* * *

That's the second-to-last message. The last one is,

_May 13th, 2009._

_I'm sorry, Katy._

_I love you._

It broke my heart.

* * *

Luckily, Auntie Patty was here to arrange the funeral. I couldn't do it, that was for sure. She didn't ask many questions, I'm so grateful for that. I have barely spoken to anyone in the last week, let alone answer questions. I knew I had to brighten up a little, to talk a bit more, but I just couldn't do it. There was a lot of things that I couldn't do, these days. Like saving my Mum or Dad.

* * *

Time was being weird. Or I was. I wasn't sure anymore.

* * *

"I don't want them at her funeral, like they'd done at Dad's."

"I'll make sure of it."

"Oh, yeah. I've been meaning to ask. Why did she go to London?"

"She visited me. She wanted everything to be sorted out before she was dead."

I knew already that she expected to die when she'd come to London, but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt anymore. "Like what?"

He looked at me in a way as if I should know already. Maybe I should, but I was too sleep deprived to actually take in some information from Mycroft.

"She made sure you were safe."

"Ah." I took a sip from my chamomile tea, _'It makes you sleep better,'_ I recalled Mrs. Hudson saying, when a thought came to mind. "Why didn't you want us to work the case?"

"Unlike Sherlock says, I'm grateful for every one of my loyal employees, and I intend to keep them. It was your mother's greatest wish to keep you safe."

"But you didn't succeed," I said softly.

"No. As I once said, you're very much like your mother, and Sherlock is... well. He's _Sherlock_."

To lighten the heavy silence that had fallen, I said, "You didn't do it because you wanted to pester him?"

"My little brother may be childish, but I'm not," he said, but it wasn't as indignant as it ought to be, so I tried to smile.

* * *

"Your mother was a smart woman, Katy."

I know. That's what made it worse.

"He fooled Mycroft. Even Sherlock."

"She did not _fool_ me, John. She only hid her whereabouts well."

"'Only'? Did you know everything else, then?" I asked, clenching my jaws.

"A few things. I knew about her past, for example."

"And you didn't bother to tell me?"

"_We_," John intervened, "didn't want to tell you ourselves. We expected to find your mother alive, and we hoped she would tell you."

It would have been great if I knew that sooner, I wanted to say, but I couldn't. I didn't have the strength to hold the anger that filled me, so I let it go and returned to my mind as I'd done the last few days.

* * *

I sat silently on the bench, in the front row. My eyes never left the coffin where my Mum lay. The chest was made of oaken wood, I was told, and it was beautiful. On top of it lay a bush of black roses; I'd insisted on them. They'd seemed fitting.

If this had been another man's funeral, I'd have despised it. But unfortunately, I have tough luck. I still despised the ceremony, but it was a different kind of hate. The funeral itself was just plain and boring. Some people I knew, some people I recognized, some people I didn't know at all, but they all talked to me, talking about knowing her when they didn't. Not even I did. No one knew she worked a dangerous job. No one knew what she and Dad had done to protect me. No one except for Mycroft, and perhaps a few others.

Speaking of Mycroft, he wasn't here. Nor Sherlock or John. I understand. Ledbury is far from London, and they're probably busy with a case, work or something else. It wasn't my business, anyway. I don't mind.

A bit of support just would've been nice.

* * *

When we moved to bury the coffin next to Dad's, I could see a man running towards the church.

"John!"

"Sorry, sorry," he panted. "I missed the train. Sherlock kind of ruined the flat."

When he straightened his back, he must have seen something in my face, because he hugged me, then. The comforting moment was so surprising that I felt a few tears rolling down my cheeks_._

"Sorry," I apologized for the tears after we broke the hug, and wiped them away from my eyes with my sleeve.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," he simply said.

After that, we walked towards the grave for my mother. Once again, I hated it, wanted to leave, but didn't want to at the same time. A lot of tears were shed, most of them not by me, though. After that, John and I went to get a cup of tea, a sort of a goodbye. A goodbye to everything that had started and I would never forget.

"Katy?"

"Yes?"

"Will you be fine?"

I smiled. Falsely or truly, I didn't know exactly. "I'll be fine."

the end

* * *

**Wow. This is the first story I've ever finished. I hope I'll finish more. **

**I won't write an epilogue, because when the sequel will come (don't know when, but I certainly don't want to leave the character Katy), it's too close to the ending of this story. **

**An ENORMOUS thank you to everyone, even if you had started reading recently, who have read this story. An even more bigger thank you to whoever had followed, reviewed, or favourited this story. It really means a lot to me, and the feedback really helped me to write more chapters (faster). **

**A special thank you to jack63kids, who beta-d EVERY chapter, and to Nixi Stasia, who helped me by beta-ing a chapter (or some? I don't know anymore).**

**Thanks so much to everyone, and I hope I'll see you again when the sequel arrives. :)**


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